Infiltration
by ykvt
Summary: Mahone’s under investigation, and Jack Bauer is assigned as his new partner in the manhunt in order for the truth about the conspiracy to be uncovered. 24 & PB crossover COMPLETE
1. Back To Work

_Chapter 1: Back To Work_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to either Joel Surnow or Paul Scheuring … and Fox. None of them are mine. Repeat for all other chapters and Fin._

_Note: All action occurs within the PB-verse, although Jack brings his entire 24-verse history (up to the start of Season 6) with him to Illinois. Many other 24 characters have turned out differently, though. Please review if you enjoy the crossover!_

* * *

Alexander Mahone didn't realise how inflamed his cheeks were until one of them brushed against the cool surface of the mirror before him. He probably would have passed out right there if the sudden temperature contrast on his face hadn't jolted him back to alertness. Still, he felt drowsy.

It was a familiar feeling, one that had begun with Shales' glassy eyes staring up at him as he'd dumped the first shovelful of dirt over his body. It had been the Apolskis boy, however, who had caused the flashbacks and nightmares to transfer from his slumbering dreams to his waking thoughts. Or maybe it had been Patoshik.

Hell, it was probably coming so close to taking out Burrows and his godforsaken kid brother so many times that had done it. Even they were more innocent than him.

Whatever the source of it, Mahone's body was shutting down again. That was how it saved him from admitting to himself that the corpses lying at his feet and in his closet should all, in a just world, be replaced by his own.

But not today. Not here in the dingy bathroom of the FBI field office in Chicago. Not when he needed to keep up pretences in order to keep his family alive.

He needed his pills.

* * *

"What in god's name were you thinking, leading me off their trail! They don't give a damn about you, Franklin. Or did you think they would've done the same for you? Is that it?"

It was the second time Mahone was standing in this interrogation room with Benjamin Miles Franklin, aka C-Note, seated opposite him.

"I been lied to by higher up authorities before. You think I'm so stupid that I would've fallen for your 'government immunity' crap? It was worth it just to see the look on your stinking, lying mug."

"Is that so?"

"That's so."

Mahone let out a disbelieving laugh as he turned away from the arrogant man, a hand brushing over his tight jaw as the prisoner took a sip from a glass of water with his cuffed hands.

"I wanna talk to my daughter," C-Note continued.

"Tell me the non-counterfeit location Fernando Sucre and Michael Scofield were planning on meeting at, and you just might get to see Deedee when she hits her thirties," Mahone snarled, back still turned.

"Oh, please. You don't have the authority to spring me from jail, fake Presidential pardon and all, so ya'll certainly don't have the authority to keep me from my kid. She's with her aunt, I get one call …"

A sudden, hacking cough rang through the depressingly grey painted room. Mahone stopped pacing and spun back to catch C-Note rubbing awkwardly at his throat. The agent's face twitched, yet remained impressively blank.

"Like I was saying, I get … one … one call …"

C-Note's eyes bulged out at Mahone for only a moment before his head slammed forward onto the metal table between them.

He was dead before Mahone could even call for help.

* * *

Irony had never been a source of great amusement for Mahone. Today, on the other hand, he couldn't fail to be gut-wrenchingly sickened by the fact that a man such as himself who relied on pills to stay sane, had also used pills to take out the fourth innocent man he'd been assigned to kill by the Company. Bill Kim had given them to him back in Gila. Fast dissolving, and virtually untraceable, he'd said.

The official cause of death for Benjamin Miles Franklin? Heart attack.

A part of Mahone had almost prayed that someone would figure out that an extremely fit war veteran with an extremely absent history of heart problems couldn't just drop dead like that. But once again, he'd proven too good at his extracurricular job for his own good.

His hands gripped the bathroom basin as he chewed on his temporary saviours, eyes averted from the haggard reflection in front of him. He'd probably taken too many, again. Not that he cared. He was only four kills away from sparing Pamela and Cameron from everything he'd been through. Cameron's leg would heal and both of their lives would go on fine without him. If Bellick proved as useful in tracking the rest of the escapees as he had been with Haywire and C-Note, it would all be over within days.

Mahone couldn't help it. He threw up into the sink, pills and all.

"Rough day?"

He froze, eyes affixed on the pills inside the basin mingled with the lingering remains of his lunch, as a hand twice as gnarled as the oak tree in his backyard slid into view, holding a paper towel. Taking the offering and wiping his slack mouth, Mahone turned on the tap and washed away the incriminating evidence as casually as he could.

"Thanks," he finally muttered, standing back up to his full height. He looked sideways at the intruder.

The man beside him radiated an intense fierceness that intimidated Mahone straight off the bat. It was obvious to him that the blond, hollow-eyed stranger had that kind of effect on people. Despite the fact the corners of his mouth were upturned slightly, he didn't look like a pleasant man to chat with. Less so considering Mahone was the exact same way.

Crushing the paper towel in his hand, he tossed it in the bin and headed for the exit, not eager to initiate any further conversation. The other man let out a soft chuckle, however, making him stop and turn back. Maybe he'd been caught out after all. Maybe his day could get just a little bit more worse before it closed.

"Something funny?"

The blond man gazed up from where he'd been scrubbing his hands together under the running tap and met Mahone's hostile blue eyes. He shrugged.

"No."

Mahone's shoulders slumped as the stranger blinked, before returning back to washing his scarred hands.

"Okay," he managed stiffly, backing off.

"You reminded me of an old colleague back in LA, that's all," the blond man said suddenly. "Chloe. She could stay up for days on end, and if anyone asked how she was, she'd avoid the question. No offence."

There was a dull silence as Mahone's eyes darted from the sink to the stranger, wondering why the man was engaging in such personal conversation when he clearly didn't enjoy it, nor seem accustomed to it.

"A man I was interrogating two rooms down from here died in front of my eyes six hours ago," Mahone replied bluntly. "So, yeah. Rough day."

He felt a smidgen of satisfaction as the slight grin on the stranger's lips wiltered away.

"How hard did you go at him?" the man asked, drying his hands.

"Didn't touch him. Heart attack. Unfortunately."

"Sorry about that, then."

Mahone chewed his lip as the blond man made to walk past him and leave.

"What brings you from LA to Chicago?"

The man stared. There was something vaguely familiar about him to Mahone that he couldn't pin down – whether he recognised the automatic wariness in his expression, or the way he hunched his shoulders, or how he winced whenever the glaring light came anywhere near his dark-circled eyes, he wasn't quite sure. Only someone like Mahone could see that beneath the solemn exterior lay a man who had been broken more than once in his life.

He was definitely a field agent.

"Transferred temporarily," said the man. His voice caught for a split second before he added, "Haven't heard a thing from the superiors yet. Only got in an hour ago."

"Right."

The blond man wiped the front of his shirt, avoiding Mahone's gaze as it bore into him. Even a five year old couldn't miss the way the stranger's eyes blinked rapidly, and how his throat constricted ever so slightly.

He'd just lied. Mahone knew it, and the intruder knew Mahone knew it.

What did he have to gain by saying that? He was obviously better at deception than he was letting on.

"Agent Mahone, sir?"

Mahone gritted his teeth as Wheeler's familiar, grating voice floated out from behind him. His subordinate was standing hesitantly at the bathroom door, eyes flicking from him to the stranger.

"What?" Mahone bit out.

"Bill Buchanan from Headquarters just arrived. He wants to brief you on a new strategy he's planning on implementing for the Fox River manhunt."

"New … strategy? Like we had a five step plan for each con before today?"

It was only the blond guest in the room that stopped him from laughing.

"Where is he?" he continued.

"Conference room. He wants a half hour with you and Agent Bauer."

Mahone glared blankly at Wheeler before he saw the young agent's eyes focus in on the man behind him. He turned as the stranger coughed into his hand.

"What does Bill want with the both of us?" the man called Bauer asked after he had recovered.

Wheeler's eyes widened. "Neither of you know?"

"Spare me the obvious answer," snapped Mahone.

His subordinate shifted on his feet, appearing suitably affronted.

"Well, the office received a fax a few hours ago, shortly after Franklin's body, uh – shortly after paramedics left the building," he explained, staring hard at the ground below him. "Jack Bauer from CTU Los Angeles has been given provisional joint control over the manhunt."

"What does that mean exactly?" Mahone asked.

"You're going to be working together, I'm guessing."

It didn't help Mahone's perturbed nerves that Wheeler reeled out that last piece of information with more than a little satisfaction. He raised an arm at Bauer.

"So you're CTU?"

"Former," the man responded quietly.

"And a former counter-terrorist agent coming in at the eleventh hour to shovel his fugitive tracking methods down my throat when I've been doing perfectly fine in so far makes exactly what sense?" Mahone seethed to Wheeler. He regarded Bauer for a moment. "No offence."

"Noted."

"If anyone's going to question Mr. Buchanan's decision, it won't be me," said Wheeler, as Jack's deadpan flattened throughout the room. "All I know is that he wants you in the conference room in five minutes. Sir."

Wheeler scurried off before Mahone could accost him any further. A chilly aura of dread permeated the air as he struggled to rein in his panic. Agent Bauer strolled up to him, leaning in so that his next words resonated even deeper.

"If you need another five minutes to try out the contents of your pen again without expelling them back into the sink, I'll give Bill an excuse for you."

His expression neither arrogant or sympathetic, Bauer stepped away and left the bathroom. Mahone collapsed against the wall. His lungs felt like they were being strangled by his own ribcage. For three weeks, he'd been surrounded by lowly idiots and lowlier morons, all of whom had made his morbid task equate to the proverbial stroll in the park.

But now, with a CTU'er on the scene – former or not – he was a dead man. The fact he'd even found out that little tidbit instead of being fed some phony credentials meant his investigators wanted him to know that he was going to be watched from here on out. And that could only mean that Scofield's message had struck a chord after all.

He swallowed the rest of the pills in one gulp.


	2. Welcome Home, Jack

_Chapter 2: Welcome Home, Jack_

* * *

A tiny, reluctant smile lit Jack Bauer's features as he surveilled the teeming FBI field office.

Winding his way through the plethora of hustling workers, he was reminded of the havoc that had surrounded him on a daily basis back at CTU headquarters in Los Angeles. The difference here was that everything seemed … cozier. The harsh metallic greys that had been – and probably still were – a staple of his former workplace were replaced by comforting red brick walls and old-style green shutters on the windows. Polished and friendly.

And nobody gaped at him like they were looking at a ghost.

It was a clean slate for Jack, and he could appreciate that Bill knew his situation well enough to give him a few weeks worth of work without the last 18 months' baggage hanging over his shoulder at every turn. It felt nice not to have any history to answer to.

His decision to blend into the background as much as possible hit a snag as he realised he had no idea where the building's conference room was.

"Mr. Bauer?"

Jack twisted around and nearly stumbled in his attempt to pull away from the person who had just tapped his shoulder. Eyes wide and a little stunned, an African-American woman with cropped hair stared up at him from where they stood in the middle of the floor. A hefty folder was gripped between her hands.

He quickly smoothed his face over, even though he couldn't keep his eyes from darting around, checking to see whether anyone else had noticed his faux pas.

"Yeah," he finally replied.

"I'm Agent Lang," said the woman, eyeing him carefully. "Mr. Buchanan's waiting around the corner. He sent me to get you."

She was speaking in an unnaturally measured voice, as though she was afraid of making him snap at any moment.

He grimaced inwardly. "Lead the way."

Throughout his years as a CTU operative, the number of things that had managed to surprise Jack had diminished exponentially with every passing year. It had gotten to the point that facing several life and death situations in a single day had ceased to faze him. But now – it was the smell of freshly cut grass. The sight of a clear blue sky. The sounds of laughter and carefree bliss. It was truly amazing how spending nearly two years in a dark and hellish Chinese prison had reconfigured the way Jack drank in the world.

At the moment it was the relative quiet of the hallway he was walking down, coupled with the soft lighting which soothed his sensitive eyes, that caused his tense features to diminish into a relaxed poker face. He could imagine working in this place longer than he expected to.

The female agent stopped outside a set of double wooden doors and turned around, proffering the bulky folder she was holding to him. He took it, noting with bemusement the single label of 'FR8 case overview – BAUER' printed neatly on its cover.

"I'll have someone check for Agent Mahone's whereabouts if he isn't here in ten minutes."

"That's not necessary," said Jack, tucking the folder under his arm. "He told me himself he'd be arriving shortly."

"Of course, Mr. Bauer."

"It's Jack. Formalities aren't an issue with me."

The petite woman's mouth stretched into what was clearly a rare workplace smile. As she strode off, Jack wondered for a brief moment whether the agent's meekness was inherent, or a result of being constantly terrorised by a certain superior who he'd recently been partnered with.

Setting the cool mask back onto his face, he swallowed the questions in his head and entered the conference room.

"Thought you'd never arrive."

Bill was rising from a seat at the far end of the conference table, paying no heed to the stacks of papers he sent flying in the process.

"It's good to have you here, Jack."

Running a hand over the lacquered surface of the table, Jack absently registered just how much more grey-streaked and lined Bill's hair and face had become. He wondered if it had anything to do with whatever had made his friend leave CTU.

"So," continued Bill awkwardly, noticing the scars on Jack's hands and knowing better than to try and shake either of them. "I hope you were comfortable on your flight in?"

Jack returned Bill's concerned gaze with a bland one of his own.

"First or second?"

There was a pause as Bill's brow furrowed in momentary confusion. Jack pulled out a chair and sat, hands clasped together in his lap, as the rush of emotions evoked upon seeing Bill again began to tire him.

"Right, I didn't think," Bill said at last, following Jack's lead and sitting opposite him. "I suppose you're wondering why we had you flown to LA first – it's quite a story, actually …"

Bill trailed off, looking like he wanted to kick himself as Jack let out a faint sigh and pushed his thumbs over the bridge of his nose. He toned back his typically loud and brisk voice as he went on.

"I know you must have a million questions, all unrelated to the contents of that folder. And I promise, they'll be answered in due time. Except right now, time is of the essence. Four of the country's most dangerous fugitives are running around the country as we speak, and Agent Mahone –"

Stopping short, Bill quickly realised the obvious, and asked, "Where's Agent Mahone?"

"Important phone call," Jack replied with a rueful shrug. "Give him ten minutes. Tops."

Bill let out a heavy breath, as though a wrench had been thrown into a carefully laid out steel contraption of his own making. He stood again, and ducked his head outside the conference room. Seeing a deserted corridor, he closed the doors with one vigilant sweep.

"I'm here on a time limit, Jack," said the older man, mouth a thin line of worry. "I was either going to fill you and Alex in on the dummy plan and have Lang or Wheeler give you the meatier details later, or tell you the truth from the start. Guess it'll have to be the second one."

Jack stared.

It had been 36 hours since the cargo plane he'd been thrown into by Chinese operatives had landed on American soil. In between the shower, shave and nap he'd been afforded, the only confidant from his former life who he'd come into contact with had been Special Agent Curtis Manning. Although the man had been a great friend to Jack for several years, he'd only managed to croak out two people's names to the man, inquiring about their respective well-beings, before closing back into himself again.

Kim.

Audrey.

If it hadn't been for the dozen or so armed guards who had given him about as much choice in getting on the flight to Illinois as Cheng Zhi had when he'd bundled him off to China, Jack would have torn out of the hanger with the closest available GPS-equipped PDA in tow. It had only been Curtis' reassurances that had calmed Jack down.

Still, now that he was here with Bill, it became clear to Jack why he'd been speaking whole sentences with complete strangers since his arrival in Chicago, and yet hadn't managed a single contraction with Curtis.

Anything familiar was painful.

"Curtis told me, back in LA, that it had to appear that … the last 18 months never happened, that I was only coming out of retirement," Jack said finally, working the agonising words around his tongue. "But I'm sure the Lang agent knows already."

"Only her and Wheeler do," replied Bill.

Jack shifted around in his seat as Bill ambled over to a large white screen and projector situated at the uncluttered end of the conference table.

"I don't understand."

"Then listen closely," Bill said, flipping the projector on. He frowned as he caught Jack's slight wince. "I'm sorry for being belligerent, Jack, but the story behind why you're here, like I said, is long, and we don't have the luxury of time. You're the best. You're the only one who can do this. We all know that. But I need your assurances right here and right now that you're up for this."

Jack buried his guilt as Bill's words brought into question what had been given up to secure his freedom.

"I am," he murmured.

His friend studied his gaunt face before nodding his satisfaction and brandishing the projector's remote control at the folder lying in front of him. Flipping it open, Jack read the debrief sheet to himself.

Fernando Sucre, armed robbery. Michael Scofield, armed robbery. Benjamin Miles Franklin, possession of stolen goods. Theodore Bagwell, multiple cases of kidnapping, rape and homicide. Lincoln Burrows, single homicide.

He rubbed his temple. "I'm in Chicago for three petty crooks and two low-rung murderers?"

"Nothing appears out of the ordinary when it comes to these prisoners, I agree," said Bill. "But the first thing you should know is that during the time you were incarcerated in China, Michael Scofield mapped out a prison break from Fox River State Penitentiary so intricate it would've saved Napoleon from Waterloo."

"He's the structural engineer," noted Jack.

"And he believed his brother Lincoln Burrows was innocent. He went in deliberately to get him out."

Jack stared at the mugshots with impassive eyes.

"Franklin was a DOA in one of the interrogation rooms earlier today," he recalled.

Looking impressed, Bill replied, "You're as quick as I'd hoped you'd be."

"Agent Mahone told me, actually. Looked pretty broken up about it, too."

"That'd almost be surprising, considering he's used to it by now. Franklin wasn't the first one."

Jack's head snapped up. "The first what?"

"Casualty. The name coined for the group that got out three weeks ago was the Fox River Eight. Three others from the group are dead – John Abruzzi, David Apolskis, and Charles Patoshik. The first two were shot dead. The last one suicided. At the time of their deaths, all of them were in the presence of –"

"Alex Mahone," finished Jack.

"Exactly."

"How do you explain Franklin's heart attack?"

Bill threw his hands up in the air, exhaling in frustration. "I don't know. Until toxicology reports come in, I don't know."

"If the man's a sociopath who's been after the blood of the eight cons all along, he's a hell of a good actor to go along with it." Jack paused, then let out a cough that sounded half like a chuckle. "Or do you think I have some kind of history with him, or one of the escapees?"

"No, not at all."

"Then why am I here, Bill? If you thought he had another agenda, you should have pulled him off the manhunt, or set Internal Affairs on him. This isn't my thing. Not that I'm not grateful."

"It's not what Mahone's been doing – it's why he's been doing it," Bill clarified, raising the remote in his hand and pointing it at the dormant projector. "This was recorded and aired six days ago."

Kneading his forehead, Jack flicked his eyes from the folder to the white screen as the image of a subdued, unshaven and sleep-deprived face filled it.

"My name's Lincoln Burrows, and I'm innocent," the man began in a deep growl. "I escaped from Fox River Penitentiary because I was sentenced to death for a crime I did not commit. I did not murder Terrence Steadman. He committed suicide last night at the Cutback Hotel, 30 miles from Blackfoot, Montana."

Jack raised an eyebrow at Bill, but he merely diverted his attention back to the screen as the camera shifted to a young man sitting to Lincoln's right.

"He killed himself out of fear," Michael Scofield continued. "Fear of the people who've been hiding him for the past three years – the same people who want my brother dead. They don't want you to know who they are, but know this. They've stolen billions of dollars, and murdered hundreds of civilians, and yet they plaster our faces on the news, and tell you to be afraid."

Lincoln folded his arms. "They are a group of multinationals, corporate interests – together, they are known as the Company."

"They are working with the highest levels of government," intoned Michael. "Including the President of the United States."

"Stop," Jack said abruptly, turning away from the screen in disgust.

Bill complied, pausing the video. He glanced at Jack, but like many occasions beforehand was unable to decipher his expression.

"Charles Logan has been out of office for nearly two years, if that's what you're thinking," he said.

"Terrence Steadman?"

"No. He was the brother of the President." Bill grimaced. "He was the brother of Caroline Reynolds."

To Bill's astonishment, Jack actually laughed. A long, loud laugh that echoed around the empty conference room.

Finally, he stopped and asked, "Caroline Reynolds is President?"

"She's been in power for less than a month. You know her?"

"I've heard stories. Secretary Heller used to call her the 'Two-Faced, Backstabbing She-Bitch of Congress', Michelle knew one of her personal assistants, I think, and Audrey …"

Jack cut himself off. It had come out so easily.

"Yeah," he said at last.

A sadness that Jack had never witnessed from Bill pooled into the other man's eyes as he struggled for words, yet managed to keep his voice unemotional.

"We have reason to believe that a group partly responsible for the nerve gas situation 18 months ago – is still out there in force. And that they have somehow managed to monopolize the Commander in Chief's services."

"Again," Jack uttered insipidly.

"It may seem far-fetched …"

"Even a blind man could tell from that video that Burrows and Scofield – from their voices, their body language, their eyes – that they're lying."

"They may have been doing so deliberately so as not to leave themselves open to accusations of insanity. As far as we know, they were joined by an ex-Secret Service agent at one point. It was only a later part of their message that caused Agent Wheeler to contact me. We started our investigation from there."

Bill fast forwarded through the video as Jack looked on, sensing what was coming next.

"One man – Special Agent Alexander Mahone – is responsible for multiple deaths," said Michael Scofield, reading from a scrap of paper in his hands. "He murdered not only John Abruzzi and David Apolskis, but also the last fugitive he was assigned to chase. A man named Oscar Shales. A man who escaped from prison two years ago, who remains one of this country's most wanted – despite the fact he will never be found."

"Alex is our weakest link to the Company," said Bill, turning the projector off. "From there, we've uncovered everything we know today. Several deaths and disappearances of those connected to Lincoln Burrows, and several deaths and disappearances of those connected to those deaths and disappearances."

"And nothing was done until the video aired."

"Because the Company has a way of burying things and distracting agencies. I should tell you now – everything I've told and shown you in this room must remain confidential. Only a select few within the Bureau and the CIA are in on the plan. Even I –" Bill stumbled over his words for a split second, before turning away from Jack. "Karen Hayes is President Reynold's current NSA advisor. She has no idea the administration she's working under is being investigated. I've been her husband for six months and I've been lying to her for a tenth of that time."

Jack blinked at the news of Bill's marriage.

"Congratulations," he said. Then, thinking better of it, he continued, "The Karen I knew would never be complicit in anything resulting in innocent deaths."

"But we can't afford to be sure."

Bill sat down opposite Jack again, looking even more agitated than when he'd first caught sight of him.

"The most important thing I ever learned, going into this line of work, was to never make things personal. Except in this case, I've done it twice. Involuntarily, by being involved with a member of the President's staff. And with you. Wheeler and Lang don't have backbones strong enough to go against their boss. So when the Director was looking for someone to come in and keep an eye on Alex, I recommended you, based on your history with the Company. And because … you could watch out for Karen."

Jack nodded in quiet understanding, knowing he would've done the exact same thing in Bill's position.

"It's imperative we find out who Alexander Mahone has been taking orders from. Through his contact, we could possibly bring them all down."

"Why not –" Jack coughed. "Why not use more expedient methods?"

"He served in the Gulf War, Alex did, in Special Ops. During a routine patrol, he was captured by enemy forces and tortured for information. When he was rescued two months later, he hadn't broken. Not once."

Lowering his eyes, Jack rubbed his shoulder unconsciously. Well, that explained the pills, in part.

"Taking Mahone out of the manhunt and interrogating him would not only yield nothing, but also cause the Company to cut all ties with him. He'd be useless to us. That's why we need you."

Bill pulled a sheet of paper out from the bottom of the folder Jack was gazing at emptily.

"This is a list of things we've gathered on Alex so far. On the other side's a list of what you need to find out. Memorise it and destroy it as soon as you can."

"I've got two questions," murmured Jack, taking the sheet from Bill.

"Go ahead."

"You've kept the fact I've been in China all this time a secret, I'm supposing, because you don't want Alex to know what steps have been taken to get me here."

"That's right," Bill said.

Frowning at Bill's avoidance of the implied question in his words, Jack continued, "The story that I've been retired instead – it raises just as big a red flag."

Bill drew his hands together on the desk, in a gesture that Jack knew meant he was calculating his next words into a precise sentence that conveyed everything he wanted him to know without it being mistranslated.

"Alex is an extremely intelligent man," he explained. "If we tried to make it look like you never left CTU, he'd find out. Pretty much immediately. And then he'd run. But. By giving him the truth without giving him the whole story, he's on guard, that's true – but he underestimates how much he's fallen under suspicion. And how good you are."

"Your idea?" Jack asked, shredding the sheet in his hands having memorised its contents.

"It was." Bill retrieved the torn up paper, stowing them in his briefcase. "What else did you want to know?"

There was a soft clanging noise as Jack stretched his rigid legs, pushing his chair away from the table. His eyes drifted over Bill's shoulder.

"How did Agent Mahone react to Michael Scofield's accusations?"

Bill's mouth thinned quizzically. "I imagine he denied them."

"In addition to pointing out that Scofield has a history of mental problems. Right up to a week long stint he took in Fox River's psych ward preceding the break out."

It took Bill a moment to register that Mahone was standing behind him in the conference room's doorway. He shared a look with Jack as the veteran FBI agent sauntered around the conference table and sat two chairs away from them both.

"Bill," he said, smoothing his suit jacket with practiced hands.

"Alex," countered the other man, doing an admirable job of keeping the coldness in his eyes from becoming entangled in his voice.

Jack could tell from the two men's terse greetings that there was a history between the both of them that he wouldn't get to hear now that Mahone had arrived. He settled for studying Mahone out of the corner of his eye as Bill discussed his 'formal' strategy with the agent.

He appeared more composed than he had reason to be. Especially for a man who'd only been given five minutes to clean himself up after having a nervous breakdown in the office bathroom.

It wasn't an unambiguous thing, whatever it was that had driven Jack to open his mouth and speak for the first time since his arrival on American soil – much less to talk with another person. It had certainly been something to do with the pills illicit enough to be hidden within a ballpoint pen. But Jack figured that since he didn't officially work here, there was no reason to blow the whistle on the man.

He'd once had a drug problem amplified by the stresses of the job. He sympathised.

But no.

What it really had been was the near primal look of desperation in Mahone's eyes as he'd forced the pills into his mouth. Chewed down on them. And then promptly thrown them back up. It was a look Jack had identified at once, one that reflected a feeling that he himself had grown as accustomed to as the sting of a knife cutting into his flesh, or the searing pain of a thousand volts of electricity coursing through his veins, or the sound of his own screams.

Resignation.

Defeat.

Hopelessness.

In hindsight, it was enough to convince Jack that Mahone was neck deep in a situation that was out of his control. Someone was definitely pushing the FBI agent's buttons, and Bill had placed his faith in Jack to find out who it was.

"I'm sure Agent Bauer will be a fine addition to our team. I'm looking forward to working alongside him."

Jack tore his eyes away from the spec sheets he'd listlessly been scanning to see that Bill and Mahone had gotten to their feet. Following suit, he gazed from one man to the other. Bill looked like he'd just been punched in the face – Mahone was directing at Jack the kind of stare that would have made any other agent curl into a ball in the corner.

But Jack merely smiled.

"I have to agree with that sentiment, Alex," he said, holding out his hand.

Mahone's brow creased momentarily, before he took Jack's hand and shook it as briskly as he could.

"There's one more thing you need to know, Jack, and then I'm afraid I have to leave," said Bill, as the two partners broke their handshake. "Agent Lang has organised your living arrangements for the time you'll be required to stay in Chicago. At first I considered giving that responsibility to Mrs. Raines, seeing as she lives closer to our temporary units, but it turns out she's busier than I thought. I'm sure she'd be sorry she couldn't help you out … if she knew you were here."

Jack's expression fell as he tried to keep at bay all of the questions pressing against his lips following Bill's cryptic message. If only Mahone wasn't in earshot. He swallowed, finally managing a weak nod.

"When this is over, maybe I could visit her and fill her in on what retirement was like."

"I'll let her know as soon as I can."

Clapping a hand on Jack's shoulder, Bill led him out of the conference room, closely followed by Mahone. The look on his friend's face told Jack everything else he needed to know.

As Bill said his goodbyes and left the building, Jack could tell that Mahone hadn't completely fallen for the set-up, judging by the feel of the agent's icy blue eyes burning into his back. He suspected Jack, alright – but for all the reasons Bill had planned out.

He just hoped Mahone would break soon.

Because then he'd get to see Audrey, and ask her himself why she'd moved to Chicago.


	3. The Man In Charge

_Chapter 3: The Man In Charge_

* * *

"Wheeler. Status report."

Mahone planted himself in front of the younger agent's desk. Wheeler adjusted the glasses on his nose in a feeble display of aggravation.

"There's been an unconfirmed sighting of Bagwell, headed south from Ness City, Kansas. We should have something more substantial within the hour …"

Putting a hand to his temple in order to stem his urge to throttle the man he was sure had called Buchanan on him, Mahone butted in, "Our priority. Once again – Scofield. Burrows. Status report on Scofield and Burrows."

"We've got nothing, sir," gritted Wheeler.

"And how many times has it been now, that something like this has happened?" Mahone barked out to the rest of the office, which was already quiet with dread. "We got a lead on Sucre. We knew he was rendezvousing with the brothers. I ordered his picture to be distributed in the area where he accessed the web site from the internet café."

He slammed his hand down on Wheeler's desk so abruptly that more than a few people jumped.

"A rocket scientist's intelligence isn't a prerequisite for passing on instructions as simple as that, do you people understand? But someone here obviously has the IQ of a snow cone, because here I am, just dying to find out who the hell it was, while we lose another con!"

"Alex."

Throughout his tirade, Mahone had just been waiting for the newcomer behind him to interrupt.

They were all like that in the beginning – brash and ignorant. He knew from experience how to put those types in their place and now, being in such a critical situation, it was essential that he established his dominance as quickly as possible.

He straightened his shoulders and rounded on Jack.

"Something you want, Bauer?" he hissed, moving forward so that their faces were inches apart.

Jack's eyes swiftly covered the room, taking in the various expressions of horror and admiration displayed by workers who were trying unsuccessfully to keep up the illusion of disinterest.

"Yeah," he said, returning his attention to Mahone's unblinking glare. "A desk."

There was a sudden burst of activity from all around as Mahone's face twitched, his gaze following Jack as the man brushed past him and stepped up to a large country-wide map plastered on the wall.

"Bagwell was born and raised in Ponca City, Oklahoma," Jack continued, running a hand between two dots on the map. "If he's been driving south from Ness City for, say, the last two days or so, he should be crossing the state border any time now. Your boy's going home. We need the specific address. Then we need to send patrol units."

Mahone felt like a particularly large and prickly golf ball was bouncing around in his head as Jack looked sideways at him with an expectant grimace.

"Give me a desk to write out information and make calls from, and I can have it done in less than ten minutes," he finished.

"Did you not hear that the sighting was unsubstantiated?" countered Mahone, sweeping a hand through his hair. "Maybe you didn't get the gist of what I was trying to point out half a minute ago, but the Bureau can't afford any more mistakes."

"Better to risk a blunder than allow an escapee to slip through the net," Jack said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "Especially someone like Bagwell."

Seconds passed as Mahone made a mild feral noise in the back of his throat.

"Then I'll take care of him," he finally spat. "You just keep your focus on Scofield, and let me know immediately when you hear anything."

Mahone fully expected his fellow manhunt leader to lose his cool over the blatant bullying, but every one of Jack's tells remained completely placid. It unsettled Mahone more than anything Jack could've yelled, and the CTU'er knew it.

This was high quality mind screwing he was being subjected to right now.

The guy was good.

Covering his face over with a derisive smirk, Mahone spun away and stalked toward his office. The gesture wasn't enough to deter Jack from calling out to his retreating form.

"My desk, Alex?"

Grinding his teeth together, he replied, "Get Foley on it."

As a contrast to the roaring in his ears, the quiet click that emanated from Mahone's office door as he shut it seemed almost inappropriate. He noticed with little relief that all of the window blinds were already closed. With no intention whatsoever of starting anything on Bagwell, he slid into his chair.

Propped his elbows on his desk, and dropped his face into his hands.

Laughed at the insanity of it all.

He hadn't managed to make out any part of the conference room discussion before the CTU'er had caught his presence. However, Jack himself had easily set the boundary between them through the way he'd gazed up at Mahone. It had been done with extraordinary skill, and if it hadn't added another rung to Mahone's already persistent death knell, admiration would've been felt on his side of the battle.

Jack could see right through him. He wanted Mahone to know it. He wanted him to know that sooner or later, he'd uncover the unabridged version of the truth.

But worse was his own realisation from past arguments with Buchanan that the man had ordered Jack to do the complete opposite, and conceal his true intentions. The only reason someone hailing from the counter-terrorism field would go against a directive like that would be if they actually lived up to their reputations as expert character readers – and, as a consequence, figured from the start not to underestimate Mahone's brainpower.

Which meant Mahone had already lost the only trump card he could always rely on.

He sighed bitterly and raised his head. Was his computer being monitored by now? How much would it cost him to dig up a few things on Jack? There was a high probability his office had been bugged, too. As well as an off chance that a camera was trained on him at that very moment.

At least he could be certain his cell phone hadn't been hacked into. Bill Kim had made sure of that.

A knock came from the door. Pushing the computer keyboard away and assuming his most insouciant posture, Mahone called the person in.

It was Lang.

"Received this a minute ago, boss," she said, dropping a sheet of paper on her side of the desk so that Mahone had to stand and reach for it. "Two verifiable eyewitness accounts of Fernando Sucre filling up on gas at a petrol station in northern Texas."

Mahone devoured the page. "So he really is back from Mexico."

"Appears so. And since it was a sighting of an individual, it's safe to say Sucre's yet to make his scheduled appointment."

"Then he can still lead us straight to Scofield and Burrows. I want 15 minute updates."

"Yes, sir," said Lang, hurrying to the door.

"Wait."

The woman froze, before turning slowly back to Mahone. She clearly hadn't missed out on his outburst from earlier.

"This new guy – Jack Bauer," he began, licking his lips. "What can you tell me about him?"

Lang appeared – for lack of a better term – gobsmacked. If one rule was that Mahone only smiled twice a year in the office, the other was that he never gave any indication at all that he cared about any personnel in the building. Unless he was screaming at them for their utter incompetence.

He narrowed his eyes frustratedly.

"I'm going to be working with Bauer for quite some time, Agent Lang. All this is … is a harmless question."

"Uh …" Lang shrugged. "He's ex-CTU."

"Is it true what Bill Buchanan told me, that he once worked with Agent Paul Kellerman?"

This time, Lang put some real effort into her shrugging as she stood up a little straighter.

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because he was gracious enough to put a bullet in me last week?" Mahone snapped, not bothering to keep up the charade any longer. "The guy's former Secret Service, only he has no official record to speak of. I find it hard to believe he's ever even met Bauer."

"Well, whether he knows the brothers' associate or not, I'm sure he'll be a valuable asset to the team."

Mahone's lip curled. "15 minute updates."

"I'm on it," Lang sighed.

As soon as she left, Mahone sat back down, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of exhaustion overtook him. Not even half a pen's worth of midazolam could save him. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, so how long did that make it? 40 hours?

40 hours of pain, and panic, and death.

It'd be so easy to just finish it.

The loud blaring of his cell phone splintered his thoughts, hurtling him out of his impromptu nap. As he reached for the device on his desk, he took his usual measure of bringing himself back to full consciousness by pinching his eyelids.

"Yeah," he said, raising the phone to his ear with his good arm.

"Alex. I just heard about the new lead on Bagwell."

Mahone didn't bother holding onto the strength he needed to keep his head up.

"You'll be pleased to know your office is bug-free, as well."

"I'm just starting to get curious about who's handing this information to you so quickly."

"You know what needs to be done," Kim's voice intoned.

"I do," replied Mahone, watching his fist clench and unclench of its own free will. "But the tip-off wasn't concrete …"

"Don't worry about its legitimacy. In five minutes, your office will receive a call that will give you more than enough permission to go down to Oklahoma. Bagwell has taken a family hostage. You need to take them out as well."

The cell phone slipped and nearly fell out of Mahone's hand.

"What?"

"Susan Hollander was a former fiancé of Bagwell's. She has two children. They all need to go."

Mahone's breath grew shallower as he sprang to his feet and paced in front of the office door.

"That wasn't a part of our deal!" he raged.

"Your deal with us concludes the minute you tie up all of the loose ends in this fiasco," replied Kim patiently. "But – if it helps …"

"What?" pressed Mahone.

"You managed to coerce Patoshik into jumping from the grain tower last week. Be inventive, Alex! Apply the same principles to Bagwell. Make him mad enough to do what you can't."

"There are people in place who'll take that as a last straw."

"Do we have to go through this again? As I recall, you had no problem shooting an unarmed teenager."

He felt as though he was going to be physically sick again. Peeking through the blinds at the action outside, Mahone sputtered hoarsely, "Do you expect me to still have a soul, when this is all done?"

"You'll have your family. And your reputation intact. That's what counts. Doesn't it, Alex?"

Mahone gripped his desk, head bowed. "Yes."

"Good. The call should come in any minute now."

The line went dead.

No sooner had Mahone snapped his cell shut and resisted the temptation to smash it against the wall, that Lang poked her head through the door with a grave expression and said, "You're needed outside, sir. It's Bagwell."

With the two latest leads on Sucre and the sociopath, the main office was even more crazed with activity. Jack was standing at a desk in the corner, nodding silently as he listened to what was no doubt a report from Oklahoma through a phone pressed against his ear and shoulder. In addition, he was signalling instructions to a half dozen agents surrounding him, all clamouring for his attention.

Mahone's despair was replaced by a flare of annoyance as the CTU'er caught his gaze and waved him over.

"We're going to Ponca," Jack said as he hung up, scribbling on a notepad. "A local cop dialled in. Bagwell's definitely there."

"We're not sending a closer unit?" inquired Mahone, half hoping Jack would give him a way out as the man gathered his things.

"Right before Bagwell stabbed the cop's partner in the neck, yelling was heard from the vehicle he's acquired," replied Jack, sweeping towards the building's exit and giving Mahone no choice but to tag behind. "He has three unidentified hostages. The officer pursued him to what looks to be his childhood home, and called for back-up …"

"Hold up a second," said Mahone forcefully.

Jack stopped as they reached the lobby. His eyes were clouded as he turned.

"Sucre's been spotted back in the country," Mahone went on. "It makes no sense for both of us to track Bagwell. You can take any standard issue vehicle you want."

"You want to gamble that trailing Sucre will nab you the brothers as well?"

"Scofield and Burrows are our top priority."

"Maybe it's time you prioritised the convict who's been connected to at least a dozen deaths to date," Jack retaliated in a darker voice. "Your job is to prevent civilian casualties. Not to stalk engineers and thieves who are off on a wild Presidential goose chase."

"So what's your job exactly, Bauer?"

Mahone made no effort to hide the challenge in his stance as Jack squared him off. For the first time, the other agent's eyes showed signs of vexation as they flitted around him to the side of the lobby. He nodded at a nearby, empty room. Mahone scowled as he followed him into the more private quarters.

"I would've thought you'd understand by now, Alex, the reason I've been tasked with this job," Jack murmured as Mahone shut the door.

Anger simmering beneath the surface, Mahone waited for Jack to elaborate. He was tired of the pain all of the thorns in his side were creating, and for once, he wanted one of them to come clean so he'd have one less to dance around.

"I have some experience when it comes to tactical manhunts," continued Jack. "Make no mistake, though. I'm not out to perpetuate the illusion I'm better at this than you are."

Mahone rolled his eyes. "Appreciate it."

"What I am here for is to bring you into line. You can start by reining your emotions in and falling back on common sense again. Tantrums in the office only serve to demoralize everyone."

"That's how I work, Jack," snarled Mahone, fathoming that their mind games were far from over. "I'm not responsible for catering to the needs of the more delicate employees of the Bureau."

"Except we're partners now. So stop taking what I say to you as advice, and start regarding it as directives to be followed."

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Past the point of caring whether he had just given anything away, Mahone refused to flinch as Jack moved dangerously close.

"If you had any idea what I've gone through up to this point, you wouldn't think to say that. There are a thousand different measures I could utilise to get you to fall in line. But because I'm back doing a job requiring a shred of moral decency, the one I'd choose would be the one that'd make you thank me afterwards for being so solicitous – if you knew what I'm fully capable of doing."

The only time Mahone could recall feeling as nauseous at a threat as he did now was when Kellerman had first approached him. Even then, the ex-Secret Service agent had had a room full of witnesses and a gun to hide behind when he'd brought out the pictures of Pam and Cameron in a park playground.

Here, Jack needed only the steely tenor that Mahone had glimpsed earlier in the bathroom to get his point across. It was truly chilling.

He turned to the door in order to hide his failed attempt at a condescending sneer.

"It's on your head if we lose Sucre."

"Have faith in others to find your men, for a change," Jack said. "Also, I want your car keys."

"Excuse me?"

Mahone's hand tightened painfully around the doorknob as he waited for Jack to throw a knife in his back and finish the whole insulting routine.

"Your eyes are the size of pinpricks – you haven't slept in days. Some shut eye on the road would do you good."

"I don't need you to drive while you're babysitting me."

"Unless you want me to report the fountain pen narcotics keeping you in the game –" Jack held out a hand, face set in stone "– pass the keys."

After exchanging another silent death threat with the man, Mahone slapped his car keys into Jack's palm.

"That's better."

As he followed Jack out into the car park, Mahone weighed up whether a bullet or his bare hands would be more effective in the future.


	4. Cornering The Jackal

_Chapter 4: Cornering The Jackal_

* * *

It was only the intense desire not to lose any more face that caused Mahone to stubbornly refrain from closing his eyes during the ride out.

Travelling shotgun next to Jack – if anything useful was going to be gleaned from it – gave him the advantage of studying the agent in a way that keeping his eyes on the road and his attention on the steering wheel couldn't have afforded him.

The man was doing a first-rate job of disguising the fact he was deeply impatient about something.

His left hand brushed against the jeans pocket where his cell phone lay every time they stopped at a traffic light, as though he wanted to make a personal call, yet couldn't because of Mahone's presence.

The banal national news report which blared from the radio ten minutes out seemed to pique his interest.

The scars on his hands were even more terrible up close.

And his right shoulder appeared to be freshly injured, judging from his occasional grimace of pain.

Because things like that happen so easily in 'retirement', Mahone thought contemptuously, sliding his gaze out to the streets of the city.

The sun was beginning to set on the horizon. Men and women were loosening their ties and kicking off their heels, chatting gaily into their cells, or down to the children they'd picked up on their way home from work. All were lost in their own worlds, never knowing and, in most cases, never having to fear for the people they loved.

Mahone stifled a sigh, sliding a little down in his seat and resting his aching skull against the headrest.

By burying himself in his work, he'd been able to shield himself from the normalcy that he'd never be able to take back for his own. Only now did he realise how long it had been since he'd had a good look at the world from the passenger seat of a car.

Nobody had driven for him since St. Louis. And that reminder was the sole reason he was angry at Jack, really.

* * *

_18 months ago – St. Louis, Missouri_

* * *

"Hey. Alex. You gone into hibernation over there, buddy? Wake up."

Mahone groaned as his eyes opened.

Dawn had already broken, sending a stream of sunlight into the car that not only blinded him, but also hampered his attempt to stifle a huge yawn. An amused exhalation of breath from the next seat made him turn his groggy head.

"Lucky our con of the moment hasn't shown up yet," the man beside him chuckled. "Else I'd have to nab him face to face all my own."

"Still no sign?" Mahone asked, pushing himself up from his slouched position.

"Nope. Even got to catch David Palmer's memorial service live while you lay there putting the mighty taxpayer dollar to good use."

Mahone's grin faltered.

"Tragedy."

"Don't need to tell me."

The other man lacked a clean nine years of Mahone's experience. As a result, he had no skills to call upon in order to hide the unease that crept into his hazel eyes. Mahone cleared his throat, affixing his gaze to the building they were staking out.

"Well," he said, as good-naturedly as he could. "How's a trip to the closest pub after we get this son of a bitch sound?"

The young man paused, then laughed.

"You ain't talking about breaking protocol on assignment, are ya?"

"We've earned it, Trey," smirked Mahone, eyes flicking over the faces on the sidewalk.

"Nah. You have, man. I would never have been able to figure out all the calls Shales was making from prison were actually being rerouted here. That was genius how you got that."

Mahone frowned as he slid his sunglasses onto his face.

Agent Trevor Beck had spent a mere three years in the FBI. Half of that had been as Mahone's field partner, and it'd be a hailstorm in hell before Mahone forgot the day Trevor had first ambled up to him in the office, his eyes eager and his attitude at its most insolent zenith.

Everything about the boy should have rubbed Mahone the wrong way, and for the first few weeks it had. Severely.

But then, he'd slowly begun to appreciate Trevor's humour. More than once he'd found his partner's jokes alleviated the stresses of their work from one assignment to the next. Eventually, he'd been allowed to see what a gifted agent Trevor was underneath the odd jokes when he'd used the street skills Mahone lacked to save a bus full of hostages from a gun-toting drug addict.

The only thing that grated for Mahone – not against his nerves, per se, but more his sense of conviction – was Trevor's tendency to hero worship him at the expense of his own self-worth.

"You're the one who noticed the inconsistencies in the first place," Mahone said at last, nodding at his partner. "I just connected the dots."

Trevor made a scoffing noise. "Yeah."

There was an awkward silence as the younger man registered the harshness of his reply to Mahone's praise.

"Kind of careless of him though, wasn't it?" he continued. "All that trouble to have a puny garage of junk waiting for him on the other side of the wall, and no attempts to cover his ass?"

"It might be a distraction. Oscar Shales is smarter than your average escapee."

"Or could be he's trying to fit in a mistake before your 72 hour window closes."

Mahone shook his head, but couldn't help grinning broadly at Trevor's flimsy remark. As he opened his mouth to rebut, his alert eyes landed on the convenience store across the road.

"You must be starving," he said, shifting in his seat.

Trevor rolled his eyes and held out a hand as Mahone retrieved his wallet, far from fooled.

"What's on the breakfast menu, Sergeant Subtle?"

"I could use a granola bar," Mahone admitted, passing on some dollar bills. As Trevor took the money and climbed out of the car, he added through the window, "And if you see any of those marshmallows they always have in the break room … two packets would be good."

"Yes, sir," said Trevor, mock bowing before crossing the road.

It had been a tiring trip down to the St. Louis storage facility, and in the excitement of the chase, Mahone hadn't been aware of how little he was eating. It amused him to no end that Pam fretted more about his decrepit appetite at the beginning of manhunts, than his chances of getting physically hurt by a fugitive. But she knew by now that Mahone could handle himself in the field.

Watching Trevor disappear into the convenience shop, he pulled out his cell and dialled the first number in its directory.

"Hello, this is the Mahone household, who are you?"

Mahone chuffed proudly. "Hey. It's Dad."

"Dad! Mom said you were working, and you're never calling when you're working."

"I know, Cam," said Mahone, swallowing his guilt. "Uh – how was your recital yesterday?"

"It's tomorrow, didn't Mom tell you?" Cameron whined.

Wincing at the disappointment in his son's voice, Mahone replied softly, "I'm sorry."

"It's OK."

"Tell you what, buddy. Get Mommy on the phone, and I'll make sure that …"

Mahone trailed off as a hulking, hooded figure stopped precisely a foot away from the entrance to the storage centre. The man was casting prudent glances around at every angle.

"Dad?"

His dark eyes finally met Mahone's suspicious ones.

"Sorry, Cam, but I'm going to have to call you back," Mahone said reluctantly, averting his gaze and sinking in his seat. "I love you."

"What about Mom?"

"Love her too, sweetie. Tell her that for me, will you?"

"OK."

In one fluid motion, Mahone crammed his cell back into his pocket and shed his sunglasses. He climbed out of the car as the shadowy figure turned away from him and entered the building.

Running up to the door, he pressed his back to the brick wall and pulled out his gun, checking the round. He considered calling Trevor for backup for all of two seconds before moving forward, not wanting to waste any more time.

Someone screamed.

Mahone pulled his hand away from the door and spun, gun raised, as more frightened shouts emanated from behind him.

People were spilling out of the store across the road. More of them screamed as a gunshot rang out from the convenience shop, many falling over each other in their attempts to get away.

"My God."

Without thinking, Mahone sprinted towards the shop, narrowly avoiding a collision with a 4WD as he crossed the road. He wrenched his ID badge from his jacket as he reached the curb.

"FBI, mam," he hollered at a nearby woman. "What the hell's going on?"

"There's a robber in there," the shell-shocked witness sobbed. "A … a big bald guy. He's got a hostage, I think he shot him …"

She broke down, and Mahone allowed her companion to lead her away to safety. He forced his way through the panicked crowd, calling Trevor's name.

His partner was nowhere to be found.

Reaching the store's entrance, Mahone edged the door open with his shoulder, both hands gripped tightly on his weapon. Sweeping his blind spots, he moved forward soundlessly. A pile of cracker boxes had been scattered across the floor. Apart from that, the store merely appeared to have closed for the day.

"Trey?"

His arms dropped in horror as he spotted a bloody figure lying spread-eagled on the ground in the aisle next to him.

She couldn't be older than ten. The girl's empty green eyes were staring up at the ceiling, oblivious to the bullet wound directly below her heart.

She was dead.

"Agent Mahone."

Mahone twisted around on impulse as the hoarse voice uttered his name. His eyes were wide as he pulled his gun up, aiming it squarely at the sight before him.

Standing just inside of the shop door, an arm as thick as a tree trunk wrapped tightly around Trevor's neck while the other pressed a gun into his temple, was a giant of a man. He was a good foot taller than Mahone, with fierce black eyes and a scraggly grey beard. And he was smiling.

The calm on his face could've been worn by someone who'd decided to shoplift a carton of milk.

"Shales," breathed Mahone, not moving a muscle as he eyed the fugitive.

"Don't worry, Alex," Shales replied in an almost pleasant voice, forcing Trevor to move a step forward with him. "Agent Beck gave me your name in addition to his gun – so, no. We don't know each other. Not yet."

"Pull that trigger and you're a dead man."

"You shouldn't have come here, Alex. What I was doing couldn't have been more obvious if I'd added a Post-It note labelled 'Trap' to each of my account transcriptions."

"The only one trapped here is you."

"I figured from the start that I'd need to get into the head of the person they'd put in charge of capturing me," Shales continued, ignoring Mahone. "You made it easy. I spotted your car from a mile away. Watched you for five hours while I waited for you to wake up."

Mahone's eyes darted from Trevor's scared ones to the scene outside. He looked back at Shales, but the con had already caught onto his way of thinking.

"Yeah, the police'll be here any minute, I expect," he sighed, eliciting a pained grunt from Trevor as he pushed the barrel of the gun in harder. "So I'll be needing your car keys and your gun before I not not kill your partner here."

"He'll shoot us both if you do it."

"Shut up, Trey!" yelled Mahone, the weapon in his hands lowering slightly.

"I thought the time limit in my threat was implied, Alex."

"Shales." Mahone raised his hands but didn't drop his gun, thinking fast. "Give yourself up now, and there's a chance you'll make it out of this alive. Drive off in that car out there and you'll end up dead at the bottom of a ditch, or at the receiving end of a cop's gun."

"You think I followed your boy in here thinking I'd be caught?" Shales laughed. "No. I wanted to get to know my new best friend, that's all."

He yanked Trevor's head back and repositioned the pistol to the front of his neck.

"Now drop the gun."

Mahone complied, knowing not to push the escapee any further.

"Good. Kick it over. The gun and the keys, together."

Gritting his teeth at the expression on Trevor's face, Mahone threw his car keys on the ground and slid it across to Shales, along with his only weapon. Shales in turn kicked the gun far out of reach.

Then he smirked.

"I've never put a Fed in the ground before," he said, shifting Trevor back into a chokehold. "And it's a good thing you're agreeable enough not to make me start today. The temptation's still there, of course."

"You got the keys," Mahone replied evenly. "Now leave. Please. This is over."

"Hardly. You know, if you'd never shown your face, that gorgeous little girl over there wouldn't have had to die. Yet there she is, and it's on you. All of them, after this – every single one of them will be on you. But don't heap the blame on yourself –"

"I swear to God …"

"– because sometimes things happen that are just out of your control."

Before Mahone could react or even blink, the gun in Shales' hand fired.

It wasn't until much later that the rest – Shales throwing Trevor's lifeless body towards him, Shales picking up his keys, and Shales tearing out of the store – registered for Mahone.

It had registered the day Mahone had finally caught up with and killed him.

* * *

His cell was beeping.

Jerking his head up, repositioning his painfully cramped neck in the process, Mahone felt around in his jacket for the phone. He shot a hateful glance at Jack as he retrieved it.

Fortunately, the other agent gave no indication he'd guessed at the subject of Mahone's nightmare.

"What?" he growled into his cell, rotating his shoulders to relieve their stiffness.

"How goes the situation with Bagwell?"

Mahone rubbed his brow as he digested Kim's question.

"A little early to be calling for an update, isn't it?"

"Questions with questions," remarked Kim, his tone darkening. "Tell me where you are."

Mahone tilted his head at Jack, grimacing. "How far out are we?"

"Approximately ten minutes."

"You get that?"

"Loud and clear. That was Jack Bauer, I presume."

"Yeah."

"I also presume you were going to tell me you'd been assigned a new partner during our last chat, and it just … slipped your mind."

There was a tense silence as Mahone closed his eyes, wishing he could cut off the conversation like he would have with any other person at that point.

He peered at Jack. The agent's attention remained glued to the road.

"It did, actually," he murmured.

"You report everything to me," Kim hissed. "Especially situations of this magnitude. The man is former CTU Los Angeles, and he's been off the radar for two years. He's a black hole. He's a problem."

"I don't see how."

"He's been AWOL for 18 months, Alex! There's no details about where he's been or how he's back. All that's in his file is a history of insubordination, but he gets results. Sooner or later he's going to find out what you've been doing, and it's going to tie directly back to the Company."

Mahone drowned a chortle as he pictured the look of panic on Kim's face at that moment.

"My hands are tied. There's nothing I can do."

"No. There isn't. Which is why we're bringing Bauer into the fold."

That finally woke Mahone up. He cast another discreet look at Jack.

"He has a daughter," Kim went on. "In Valencia, California. And a former girlfriend in Chicago who might also prove useful. The only reason I'm telling you this now is so you can prepare for Bauer's inevitable reaction when he discovers they'll both be killed unless he does exactly what he's told."

"That's not necessary."

"Oh, right. You have a choice in this matter, do you?"

Mahone pulled at his tie, formulating a defence for the man who didn't deserve what he'd been put through for an entire month, however irritating he'd proven himself already.

Without tipping off the same man as well.

"I think I can call things better from the field," he began carefully. "There's no problem here. I can take care of it on my own."

"Not a risk I'm willing to take."

"Let me –" Mahone bit his tongue before his anger could betray him "– let me handle everything."

"The last few days, bar Franklin, have been a disaster. On my own watch, I personally lost the brothers, and the doctor, and Kellerman, in Chicago. If Bagwell and his captives aren't dead and in the ground by the end of the day, at the least – I will be."

Feeling decidedly unsympathetic at the note of desperation in Kim's voice, Mahone replied, "Like I said … I'll take care of it."

There was a pause as Kim made a cursing noise.

"For Bauer's sake, you damn well better," he replied, conceding. "Get this done within the hour, or I make the call."

Jack spared a glance at Mahone as he stowed his cell away. Flashing lights could be seen up the road they'd just entered.

"We're here."

"I see that," replied Mahone, scowling out the window.

"You ready for this?"

Tiredly facing Jack as the car pulled to a stop, Mahone sensed something amiss in his partner's expression, as though he himself wasn't quite sure he was up for the task ahead either.

"What makes you think I'm not?"

Jack holstered his gun and opened the car door. "OK."

The various shouting and blinding police lights that greeted them at the end of the road only served to exacerbate Mahone's headache. He squinted at the ramshackle house in the distance as Jack introduced them both to the local sheriff.

"We've secured a one mile perimeter, so there's no way our boy can run," yelled the sheriff as Mahone nodded at him in greeting. "There hasn't been a visual yet, but we think there are children in there. He hasn't made any demands, at this point …"

"You've started negotiations?" interrupted Jack, shielding his eyes as he also inspected the house.

"No, no – we've been waiting for you guys for that."

"Is there a working phone line in there?" Mahone asked, taking in the broken windows and graffiti.

Looking perturbed, the sheriff replied, "The place has been abandoned for years, as far as I can tell."

"Bagwell won't respond to any attempts to coerce him out of there," Jack said to Mahone. "We need to flush him before he loses whatever handle he still has on reality."

"We do that and our signatures on the captives' death certificates are the only certainty."

"The man has shown on more than one occasion that he has no problem killing hostages under sustained duress," retorted Jack, spinning back around. "The longer we give him, the more likely he'll snap."

"I can't believe you'd be so reckless," said Mahone disgustedly.

The sheriff eyed both of them with nervous indecision, before choosing to back off and answer his ringing cell.

"It's being sensible, not reckless," Jack replied, staring Mahone down. "If you want all four people in that house to get out without the need for body bags, I suggest you follow my lead."

"You're suggesting there's a way to move in without him catching on and slashing all of their throats?"

"Mr. Bauer. Mr. Mahone. Excuse me."

They rounded on the sheriff at the same time.

"What?"

"A 911 came through a few minutes ago. The caller wanted to be put through to the person in charge out here."

Jack snatched the phone, staring down at it in anticipation.

"It's him?"

"That's what he says."

Mahone chewed his lip as his partner raised the phone to his ear.

"This is federal agent Jack Bauer," the man said, turning his gaze to the house. "Theodore. I heard you wanted to speak to me."

Silence. Then, with complete unexpectedness, Jack twisted his head at Mahone with a confused frown.

"Yes, Agent Mahone is still in charge of operations. He's here. But so am I. We're both here to help you out."

A river of pure dry ice washed over Mahone's insides at Jack's words.

"I know it feels like you don't have any options here, Ted, but you do. You can talk to Agent Mahone, if that's what you want. You can talk to anyone you want. But first …"

Jack gestured at an officer, letting Bagwell talk over him while he took a notepad and pen and scrawled over the paper. After a few seconds, he flashed a single word at Mahone.

MOBILISE.

Mahone mouthed a question of disbelief, but Jack stabbed the hand with the directive in it towards the residence, proceeding to make a slicing motion across his opposite arm.

"Trust me, Ted, you don't want to do that. Stay with me. We can get through this. Ted? Stay with me."

He sent a look of unadulterated fury at Mahone as nobody moved.

"Ted? Hello?"

Another moment passed, before Jack dropped the phone and pulled his gun from its holster.

"Damn it, Alex!" he roared, directing the team of agents waiting for their orders towards the house. "He said he's given up. He's going to massacre them!"

The revelation was enough to keep Mahone from trailing behind Jack as the agent dashed towards the rundown building. He got over his shock quickly, nevertheless. By the time he'd followed Jack and reached the front porch, the door had already been kicked open, and he could hear shouting from the next room.

Turning the corner, his own weapon out by now, Mahone was confronted by a hysterical woman and a young girl and boy.

"Mrs. Hollander, did Bagwell give any indication whatsoever about where he might be heading?" Jack was saying.

Mahone lowered his gun as the woman shook her head. He felt sick to the core at the thought that he had considered, however briefly, taking the lives of these people. These children.

It took him a moment to realise that Jack was talking to him.

"… sent us in here as a goddamn distraction. He's got at least five minutes on us – but we can still catch him if we split up …"

Jack paused as Mahone looked at him dazedly.

"I need you to take the west side while I go east," he reiterated louder.

Replying abruptly, Mahone whispered, "I can't."

"We don't have time to argue over this."

"It's pitch black outside," Mahone snarled, growing even more angry at himself. "Torches will make us sitting ducks, and Bagwell knows this area better than anyone."

"I remember how to handle these situations," said Jack, reloading his gun. "If you can't, I'll go in myself."

The blond agent made a prompt u-turn and headed for the back of the house. Placing his face in his palm, Mahone gave a heavy sigh of exasperation tinged with dread.

Then, stealing another glance at the family cradling each other with sobs of relief, he went after Jack.

The house's backyard was as difficult to navigate as Mahone had thought. Barely guided by the street lights on the other side of the residence, he made his way towards what appeared to be a large shed, careful to disguise the crunch of his shoes which only seemed to be amplified by the darkness.

Poking his head around the bend, he noticed at once that the shed door was ajar.

The gun in his hands whipped around instinctively as a muffled noise echoed behind him. Straining his ears, he cursed Jack once again in his head.

Where the hell are you?

Satisfied that he was alone, he edged along the side of the shed. With a practiced exhalation of readiness, he stormed inside.

That was when something as heavy as solid granite smacked into the back of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Why, howdy there, Mr. FBI Special Agent Alexander Mahone. Been a big aficionado of yourself since I seen you on the news with my various associates."

Mahone rose onto his knees, groaning, as the southern drawl descended into a laugh. Before he could turn, however, Bagwell clamped a vice-like arm around his throat and pulled him to his feet, while the other twisted his hand, making him drop his weapon in pain.

"Nah, nah – now, is that any decent way to treat a host?" chided the sociopath as he slammed the shed door shut and switched on a light out of nowhere, making clear to Mahone what exactly the sharp object against his neck was.

"You're surrounded, Bagwell," he choked out.

"Oh, please. It ain't being unscrupulous if you call me Ted."

Mahone's blinks came out more rapidly as the knife pressed deeper into his throat.

"But let's not stand around deliberating here," Bagwell continued in a hiss. "I am not going back to the big house, and I most certainly am not dying at the end of the sword you consigned to impale my compadres upon. One wrong move and you'll be asphyxiating in your own purulent plasma, understand me?"

As Mahone was forced further inside the shed, he closed his eyes in defeat.

He only wondered why he hadn't received his comeuppance sooner.


	5. The Beating of His Hideous Heart

_Chapter 5: The Beating of His Hideous Heart_

* * *

One benefit Jack had taken away from his two years as the sole occupant of a pitch-black, three by four cell was an improved set of considerably sharpened senses.

His ears – which only a few days ago had been attuned to the sound of approaching footsteps signalling a new round of painful interrogations – were now in sync with his present and far more welcome surroundings as he searched the darkened backyard of Theodore 'T-Bag' Bagwell's childhood home.

The very thought of his new situation was enough to make Jack shake his head in morbid amusement. He'd done work like this before, certainly. But the taste of excitement he could dimly remember from his early field days now only left a bitter tang.

Two years had been enough to reflect. And regret.

Shaking distracting thoughts from his head, Jack stilled next to a broken pot plant as something akin to a pained grunt emanated from a large building in the distance. He strained his ears as he moved in.

A tin-walled shed came into view. At the same time, sounds of a brief but loud struggle spilled out from a broken window. Jack swiftly covered the thirty feet to the shed and ducked under the window, checking his gun. From the sound of it, whoever was inside was only half that distance away. An easy shot.

"And I thought … I thought, gosh, here's a fine man in the F-B-I going around killing cons left and right like we're nothing more than insects to be squashed. Like none of us would determine to skirmish back. Is that how you see me, Alexander? Your latest extermination project?"

Bagwell.

"I was actually looking forward to putting a bullet in your smartass mouth, you sick son of a bitch."

Damnnit.

With as much covertness as he could muster considering the amplified circumstances, Jack lifted himself in order to glean an adequate view of the inside of the shed.

A head of badly dyed blond hair was angled away from him, looking down at Jack's partner, who was sitting cuffed by one hand to a flimsy deck chair. Bagwell had Mahone's gun, and was pointing it almost carelessly at his captive. Mahone in turn was glaring back up at Bagwell with the ferocity of a tiger who had just been prodded with a supernova-heated poker.

"You know," Bagwell said, stroking the gun absently with what appeared to be an artificial hand, "I was never … consternated by the thought that a man such as yourself was coming after me. Fact is, I wanted to say my thank you's, grateful that I am that you voided the world of the friend who disconnected me from my left digit right here."

Bagwell waved his free arm in the air. Mahone rolled his eyes. Jack's mouth tightened.

He knew enough about Oscar Shales to know that Mahone didn't exactly hold homicidal rapists in the highest regard. But the way the agent's throat and body communicated to Bagwell, it was almost as if he didn't care whether the escapee shot him or not. Which would have happened already if Bagwell didn't already have something else planned.

That gave Jack time.

"Well, I wasn't expecting you to appreciate a decent chat when you were just handed one like you got right now. It must aggrieve your sensibilities that a man of my distinction can possibly make an intelligent conversationalist. Even annoyed Pretty."

"You mean Scofield," said Mahone, making a disgusted face at the shadowy lust which crept over Bagwell's face.

"Oh, please!" the con laughed. "You cannot deny the man is a damn sight attractive! But I suppose you're a real family man, no? Not one to go experimenting outside your boundaries and peripheries? Comfort in the familiar is an illusion, a vice; that's all there is to it. Truth is, Alexander, we're not so distinct. You kill, I kill. You love your woman, your offspring, your family. Well, so do I."

"And I suppose holding them at knifepoint is all just a part of the comfortable non-illusion of family you've built up in your deluded head," Mahone scoffed.

Bagwell's face darkened as Jack pulled out his cell and discreetly began to dial a number.

"We all love each other. Love. And if you hadn't hounded us down here, we would have been content as it is."

"They're in danger because of your 'love', Bagwell."

Attention caught, Jack's finger froze over his keypad. Bagwell's jaw went slack.

"What?"

"You wanted to know how it is all of the cons are dying at my hand? There are people forcing that hand. They want a net thrown over anyone involved in the escape, and everyone is expendable. You have Scofield to thank for that."

"I'm not particularly interested in Pretty right about now," hissed Bagwell, inching closer. "If anyone lays a paw on my Susie Q I will terminate you, understand?"

"That's not a particularly bad plan," Mahone said in a mock serious voice.

"What are they going to do to Susan?"

Mahone shook his head, his expression almost bored.

Even though Jack needed to learn more about what Mahone was referring to, he needed his partner alive more. The decision was instant. And maybe there was a way to do both things at once.

"What are they going to do to Susan?" roared Bagwell, striding forward with the clear purpose of causing Mahone as much pain as possible.

At that moment, the ring of a cell phone permeated the shed.

Bagwell stopped. Composing himself with steadying breaths, the con fished Mahone's cell from his pants pocket and flicked it open. He set it down on a wooden table in front of Mahone.

"Speak-er," he enunciated for his hostage. "Answer for me."

"No."

"Your employers are looking to harm my beloved, and I swear to everything that is holy in this world that I will cut you up, serve you on a platter to any other agents in the nearest vicinity before I eradicate them too, and hunt down your own whore of a spouse if you do not help me do everything to prevent it from coming to pass. Now. Start talking!"

Jack could feel the heat of Mahone's dogged glare from where he sat on his haunches. The cell on the table went silent. Jack quickly hit redial.

Finally, Mahone pressed the answer button on his cell with his free hand, all the while looking like he wanted nothing more than to wrap the same hand around Bagwell's throat.

"Yeah," said Mahone, as Bagwell paced a safe distance away, listening in to the conversation intently.

"Anything yet?" Jack began, careful to keep his voice down just enough to conceal his present position.

"If there was, you would've blown it, calling like this," Mahone snapped, not missing a beat. "Don't ring in for updates, Jack; ring in with results."

Bagwell swivelled the gun side to side warningly. Mahone gave an inaudible noise of frustration before continuing.

"How is it on your end?"

"There's been a change of plans concerning the Hollander woman and her children."

Mahone shared a glance with Bagwell, his throat constricting as the con urged him on with his gun hand.

"We have plans for the collateral damage now?"

"I've been asked to pass along our orders to you," Jack explained smoothly. "The family and Bagwell are to be kept alive."

"What the hell do you think you're talking about?" Mahone snarled, oblivious to his own feigned calmness of mere moments before.

"Oh, I think you know, Alex."

His partner's pale blue eyes glittered with contempt under the sickly yellow light of the shed. And just like that, Jack had the answer he needed.

"Mr. Stuart promised me you wouldn't be brought into this," said Mahone, sitting further up in his chair. "I defended you, Jack."

Jack knew a verbal ruse better than anyone. However, for the purposes of the current situation, he had no choice but to play along.

"I've agreed to cooperate with Mr. Stuart so long as it takes to finish this job. Together we can accomplish our orders twice as fast. Then we can go back to our lives."

It took Mahone all of a second to relax his tensed shoulders in a subtle show of relief. Even if Jack didn't get to learn the name of his partner's blackmailer today, Mahone knew now that Jack was somewhere within earshot.

And shooting distance.

"How much do you really know?" Mahone asked shrewdly, his gaze sweeping the shed.

"Enough to not be surprised," replied Jack, watching a visibly jovial Bagwell begin to silently formulate an escape plan now that he'd heard his 'family' was safe.

"You can't pretend you were sent to Chicago by coincidence," said Mahone. "Talking with Bill Buchanan like you're old pals? Downgrading from CTU to FBI? Trying to weasel information out of me at every turn? Please. Don't talk to me like I enjoy the situation I'm in, or think that I haven't been acting against my will. I don't need your help, and I certainly don't need your pity."

Jack couldn't believe his ears. It couldn't be more obvious that he was trying to save Mahone's life, and all the FBI agent could do was admonish him for what had been an even more obvious fact from the start.

But it was fast becoming clear that Mahone didn't even care.

"If you've given up and no longer want to help me finish my job, I will just keep going on my own," Jack hissed, clenching his fist. "It doesn't matter to me whether you live or die through this, but I'm starting to wonder why it doesn't matter to you."

"I just want this wrapped up," Mahone replied, rubbing his pallid face with his uncuffed hand.

Jack was about to retaliate when Bagwell abruptly pounced for the phone and threw it against the wall, destroying it instantly. Grimacing, Jack snapped his own phone shut and readied his firearm.

"Now Mr. Special Agent Mahone, why are you suddenly in the business of gesticulating towards the roof right there over our heads?"

Brow creasing, Jack peered closer at Mahone through the small window opening. He bit his tongue in frustration as Mahone lowered his hand before any definitive signal could be made apparent.

"Your constant posturing is tiring me, Ted," Mahone bit out, directing bloodshot eyes at the con.

Bagwell cocked his head to the side.

"You're plotting behind my back, FBI."

Mahone's face remained poker straight as he retorted, "Blindsiding a hick such as yourself wouldn't require much in the way of plotting."

An ugly shade of red swept across Bagwell's face like a roaring tide of molten lava. Jack wasn't sure whether the angry contortions currently consuming the man's face was a success for Mahone or not. He was striking all of the wrong nerves, either way.

"If I'm going to utilise you as a … uh … bargaining chip, if you will, for my departure out of this stinking pit of humanity, as you so see it … I need to be persuaded that you did not just do something very, very stupid. In fact, I believe I need a second opinion."

The wiry escapee spun on his heel and raised his voice to a throaty shout.

"Special Agent Jack Bauer. The name slips off the tongue like sandpaper on muddy grass. I might even have read it in a paper one time ago."

Jack closed his eyes and pounded a fist against his forehead as Bagwell straightened his gun arm at Mahone's tense figure.

"But now I want and I need an eyeful of you. So come on out of wherever it is you're hiding. Weapons on show, and no phone calls for any reinforcements for yourself. For the benefit of your partner's continued existence here."

A long cricket chirp punctuated the silence that followed.

Jack cut away from his view of the shed interior to rest his back against the wall. As he emptied his gun – there was no sense in arming Bagwell even more to the teeth – he craned his neck up at the shed roof.

There was nothing there. Nothing useful for Jack, or any hypothetical rescue mission, except for a dangling garden hose only practical for allowing him to climb down into the shed with a severe lack of any element of surprise whatsoever. Bagwell really had been imagining things in his state of paranoia – Mahone had no clue how to take him down, with or without Jack's help.

A light suddenly went on in Jack's head.

He darted to the other side of the shed's entrance door. Running the length of hose between his scarred fingers, he pictured in his head the area where Mahone was currently sitting.

Of course. Mahone needed Jack to pull it.

"Two minutes is all you got left," Bagwell hollered from the shed as Jack carefully set the hose back in place.

Steeling himself, Jack raised his gun above his head and used his other hand to knock on the shed door. The scratching sound of feet against gravel wilted away inside the building.

"It's Jack Bauer," he called.

"My daddy dearest never saw fit to fasten any locking apparatus on that door in front of you, Agent Bauer. So step right on in."

Jack set his jaw and pulled the iron handle, before pushing the door open.

He squinted against the light, taking in how the scenario had changed in the last couple of minutes. Bagwell had moved to stand a safe distance behind Mahone, but he was close enough to be able to administer a clean shot to the back of the FBI agent's skull.

All traces of humour had slid off both men's faces. Bagwell looked demonic and desperate; Mahone wore a putrid expression that made clear to Jack that if Bagwell didn't kill him, Mahone would himself if he made it out alive.

"So what do you think, Ripper Boy? Should I be insulted Alexander deemed me nothing more than a lowly bumpkin? I could beat the both of you agents in a spelling bee, at the least."

"That's not my place to say," Jack said in a low voice.

Bagwell chuckled. "All you authorities. All the same. And all frightfully confusing. I swear on my mother's grave that I have seen you around somewhere before this whole mess today."

The con poked his tongue out between his teeth as his expression grew puzzled.

"It's nice to meet you too, Theodore," deadpanned Jack.

Bagwell held up his artificial hand as Jack stepped closer.

"No more moving any forward along until your weapon's down on what passes as a floor around these parts."

Jack obeyed without protest. Mahone's eyes followed the gun as it clattered to the ground, his face stony.

"Good. Excellent, even! Alexander would do well to take some anger reconciliation classes or whatever the hell it is you people call it from whoever taught you." Bagwell nodded his head at the rickety wooden table in front of Jack's partner. "Now, over there."

Jack caught and held Mahone's gaze as he strolled with slow, deliberate steps to the other end of the table. Mahone's assent emanated from nothing except his eyes. The garden hose was only a few feet away from where he sat, and well within reaching distance.

"I presume you are in possession of another pair of handcuffs, Ripper. That pipe over there would be a fine place to attach it, don't you believe, Alexander? I don't think I need to tell you ..."

Bagwell's sneer of delight lessened as Jack stopped straight ahead of Mahone, his body pressing against the table.

"The pipe," Bagwell repeated in a deadly voice. When Jack didn't move, his eyes never leaving Mahone's, Bagwell shook the gun. "If you aren't of that particular strain of thought that I am incapable of shooting a grown man, you have severely been neglecting your homework duties, Agent Bau-"

It happened in an instant. Mahone slammed both of his feet against the legs of the table between himself and Jack, the grounding weight provided by his partner allowing him to propel his body and the deck chair he was seated on backwards – and straight into Bagwell.

Caught unawares, Bagwell staggered and fell as Mahone crashed into him. The con dropped the gun in the process. All three men froze instantaneously as the weapon skidded across the ground and out of sight underneath a broken refrigerator.

Letting out a primal cry of anger, Bagwell dove for Mahone, who was still weighed down by the tipped over chair. Mahone was ready, however – he swept his legs around in a scissor kick, catching Bagwell in the ankles and sending him sprawling to the ground for a second time. Pushing himself up from the chair, Mahone then delivered a hard punch to Bagwell's solar plexus, before grabbing the piece of garden hose hanging above his head and wrapping it tightly around Bagwell's neck.

"Now, Jack!" he yelled, twisting Bagwell's good arm behind his back as the fugitive grappled at him futilely.

Jack looked on in disbelief. "Under the arms …"

"Now!" Mahone barked as Bagwell managed to push him away and began to grapple at the knot under his chin.

Left with no choice, Jack vaulted up a stack of plastic crates in the corner and twisted a length of hose around his hand. With a deep breath, he gave a sharp pull.

Bagwell's mouth had barely let out a howl of pain before he was lifted clean off his feet. Eyes bulging, his entire body flailed like that of a beached whale as his feet searched desperately for a landing and found none.

Clutching his side, Mahone glared up at Bagwell, giving Jack no indication at all that he wanted him to let go of the hose. It was as though he was seeing right through the spectacle before him. He was also whispering something – it sounded like 'hay'. Haywire? Or maybe … 'tray'?

"Alex!"

Mahone snapped out of his reverie and turned just in time to see Jack release his grip on the hose. Bagwell dropped like a stone to the floor, already out cold.

Unfortunately, by the time Jack realised how acute a miscalculation he had made, Mahone was already leaning over the escapee's body, preparing to tie him up. Giving a feral growl at the back of his throat, Bagwell rolled away from him and snatched Jack's dropped gun. He twisted around and aimed the gun straight up at Mahone's face, before pulling the trigger.

A loud and empty clicking stabbed the air.

Mahone kicked the weapon out of Bagwell's hand as Jack clambered down the side of the crates. His back turned to the tussling pair, he proceeded to miss out on whatever it was that Mahone did to elicit an inhumane scream from Bagwell's throat.

Cursing audibly, Jack ran over as blood spurted everywhere. By the time he halted behind Mahone, Bagwell had already stopped twitching. The murderer was dead; it was a certainty considering the weapon Mahone had used, which Jack could now make out.

The ballpoint pen his partner had been unscrewing when Jack had first laid eyes on him was now embedded firmly within Bagwell's chest.

"Was that really necessary?" Jack panted, eyeing the gory scene as Mahone stood and wiped his blood soaked arm against the wall.

"I told you I didn't need your help," Mahone spat, moving away from Jack. "Whatever you think about what I said to get to this point, whatever you believe I gave away … it was simply part of the plan."

In one fluid motion, Mahone smashed the deck chair against the wall. The armrest broke off, freeing him. Jack sighed, and followed Mahone's blue-eyed gaze to Bagwell's prone body.

Another con was done with, and Jack felt as oddly relieved as the expression on Mahone's face indicated of his own feelings on the matter.

Jack was finally beginning to understand.


	6. Birdbaths and Bullets

_Chapter 6: Birdbaths and Bullets_

* * *

It was a quarter past midnight when Mahone arrived home. Considering that on most week days he slept in at the office, and only came back to this godforsaken burial ground when he needed a change of clothes or a misplaced folder, today could be considered a rare luxury. Not that there was any comfort in coming back to a place which invited hellish memories of Shales. And the life he'd once had with his family.

The life he'd wasted.

Wiping his dirt-covered shoes against the welcome mat, Mahone reached for the front door knob, only to realise that he'd left it unlocked yet again. It was becoming a bad habit of his, forgetting all these tiny details. He'd come to rely on the elderly widow across the road to take care of the house. Though Mrs. Oakenfield's intrusions – which had begun when Pam had left with Cameron – had been annoyances at first, Mahone had grown to appreciate her friendship. What had been a friendship until recently, anyway.

He laughed bitterly at himself as he stepped inside. The foyer of his home offered no relief from the frosty night air. Tossing his jacket and briefcase onto the couch he'd been allowed to keep after the divorce, Mahone opened the fridge. Sniffing distastefully at the contents inside, he reflected on just how much Michael Scofield's damning message had caused others to change their behaviour towards him.

It was almost amusing, watching those he'd never considered friends try and act normally around him. But for someone like Mahone, who was unrivalled when it came to reading people, it was also painful.

His coworkers now looked at him in fear for all the wrong reasons, any traces of respect or admiration eviscerated. And not just that. Complete strangers had taken to avoiding his gaze and side-stepping him on the street – those he would never have guessed would recognise him from the endless media coverage of the Fox River manhunt which focused exclusively on the fugitives.

All of these people were too stupid to understand that Michael was a liar. A selfish and pathetic liar who had falsely accused a man of being a murderer just to have him thrown off his scent. Damnnit, he'd done people like Michael a favour by ridding the world of Shales. Not to mention Abruzzi and Bagwell.

And the boy? The mentally ill man? The father? What about them?

Slamming the fridge door shut, his appetite lost, Mahone made a beeline for his discarded jacket. Then he remembered that the pen had been admitted to evidence detail. Furthermore, and by pure luck, he'd emptied it that morning in the office bathroom. There were too many thoughts crowding his head, but he didn't usually forget when he needed to stock up.

He crossed the floor to the sink and filled a glass with water, making a mental note to call the kid dealer as he scanned the garden outside.

The area looked like a wild and untamed jungle, dark as it was through the kitchen window. Weakly illuminated by the street lights, the birdbath glimmered small and insignificant by comparison. Mahone sipped from his glass in silent contemplation.

Strangely enough, Bagwell hadn't brought Shales to mind nearly as often as Michael did. Probably because Mahone hadn't spent as much time pouring over the details of any tattoos that adorned Bagwell's body. Still, his thoughts were on Bagwell now, and they offered the temporary relief he needed. If there was a con he was least sorry to see in the ground, it was the one Michael should never have included in the escape in the first place.

Setting his empty glass down, Mahone descended the stairs to the basement. He meticulously filled out the details of the day's events on a neon blue Post-It note. With relish, he stuck it up on the wall calendar.

BAGWELL PONCA CITY, OKLAHOMA – DEAD.

Not even Jack Bauer could find anything objectionable in that.

The tiny grin on Mahone's features faded as his cell phone rang and he eyed the ID on the screen. Clenching his jaw, he flipped it open and let out something akin to a growl.

"Is there any time of the day you don't see fit to bother me, Mr. Kim?"

"Congratulations on your work today," replied Kim, sounding as acerbic as ever in spite of the late time. "Another rung climbed on the ladder. I assume you're home by now."

Mahone's bleary eyes narrowed. "Suppose I am."

"I'd also assume you've heard the news by now. But clearly that isn't the case."

That was about right – Mahone and Jack had driven back to Chicago in complete silence. Mahone had spent most of the trip cleaning blood out of his suit.

"Something happen?"

"Turn on the news," Kim urged. "Tell me what you see."

Mahone shifted his cell to his other hand and flicked on the television sitting on top of a file cabinet in the corner. He blinked as a news bulletin flashed across the screen.

"Well," he said, chewing his lip, "it looks like the Red Sox won by 20 against the Rangers, and one of them picked a fight at the wrap-up party …"

"That's funny, Alex, that's real funny. I was referring to Caroline Reynolds. She announced her resignation at a conference in Chicago earlier today. She'll be dealt with in due time; but, as of now, we're exposed."

Mahone's heart dropped as he switched off the TV.

"Exposed how?"

"You're a smart man. Figure it out. Only a couple of days after Scofield and Burrows level accusations of treason against the President, she steps down using a conveniently timed malignant tumour as an alibi. That corroborates everything else that was said on the tape."

"So you mean … I'm exposed," Mahone concluded.

"You know I don't like to beat around the bush, Alex. So I'll be blunt. We need you to disappear. Before you give us all away."

Wiping the back of his hand against his forehead, Mahone paced the floor, trying to wrap his head around what Kim was saying.

Finally, he repeated, "Disappear."

"One of my men left a box on the desk in your basement," Kim explained patiently. "I can be generous. Suffice to say, there won't be any pain involved for you."

"You broke into my basement?" asked Mahone, spinning around as though Kim was right there behind him.

"That's the least of your worries. Open the box."

Mahone sank into the chair behind his desk. Pulling closer a plain cardboard package, he lifted the lid. His throat went dry. His fingernails cut into his palms.

"You smug little son of a bitch!"

"Manners, Alex. I thought you'd be grateful. Receiving a fresh supply of midazolam free of charge like this. There's nothing like that rush. And really, can you think of any better way to go out?"

"Just say it straight," spat Mahone, resisting the urge to pick up the plastic bag full of blue pills and crush them into nothing. "You want me to take enough drugs to overdose. You want me to … to kill myself, like some kind of coward."

"Yes. I do."

"I can still get you Scofield. Burrows and Sucre … I can find them. This isn't necessary."

"And the Hollander family? You got Bagwell, but you let them go. Now they're far out of reach of any attempt at a clean up."

"Don't even think that I …"

"Maybe you should think about your family," interjected Kim. "If you don't do as you're told, there will be irreparable consequences for the both of them. Much worse than any hit and run. But. Finish your work, and they'll be left alone. And let's face it. They'll be better off with you gone."

Mahone's head dropped onto the desk. There were a lot of things Kim was bad at, and the chief one was lying. By even bringing up the subject of his family, Kim allowed Mahone to catch on immediately to the fact that once he was out of the picture, his employers – the Company, as Michael called them – would go after his wife and son.

He threw the box into the trash.

"I'll do it," he whispered, and promptly hung up.

By the time he'd sprinted up the basement steps and fervently begun to pack a suitcase with everything he needed, Mahone had determined that there was no-one he could trust except Pam. And he hated it – hated that his life had deteriorated to the point where one of the few people who still mattered in it had to be put in danger because of what he had planned.

But there was no other way. Or enough time.

Sealing the suitcase shut, Mahone backed out of his bedroom and took a final glance around the home he knew he wasn't going to miss. He pulled his cell out of his trouser pocket and set it down on the kitchen bench – the last thing he needed was to get traced.

The birdbath shone at him with eerie anticipation from the garden. He let out a shaky breath.

"This is it, Oscar."

He barged out the door, not even bothering to close it. Scanning the driveway cautiously, he unlocked the car and threw the suitcase into the back. The cold air made him shiver as he walked around to the driver door.

And then he froze as he heard footsteps behind him.

"Kim thought you wouldn't have it in you."

Mahone whipped around, automatically reaching for his holster. The stranger ambling up the driveway already had his gun out, however. His features were twisted into the complacent smirk that seemed to be a staple of every Company employee Mahone came across.

"I've been tasked with seeing this through," the man went on, forcing Mahone back a few steps as he moved closer. "We'd prefer it if your death raised as few questions as possible. So I'm going to give you one last chance to go back inside, and use the box I left for you."

"And what comes after that? My family?"

"If I shoot you now, Agent Mahone, I guarantee forensics will come up with a suicide ruling."

"You don't want to do this."

"I'm going to count from five …"

Mahone lunged. Despite his small window of surprise, his anxiety and tiredness stopped him from knocking the gun out of the stooge's hand fast enough, and it fired before it pin-tailed under the car. Mahone fell back, grimacing in pain as a sharp stinging sensation tore through his left arm.

Before he could regain his stance, the other man was on him, punching hard with both fists. Mahone yelled as one blow connected with his unhealed shoulder. His vision went blurry. Somehow, his assailant pulled out a knife even as he managed to pin Mahone down.

But it didn't take Mahone long to go into survival mode. He raised his good arm and blocked the knife as it came down. Eliciting an agonized grunt from the stooge as he jerked his hand around and threw him off his body, Mahone proceeded to bash the man's face against the car door, by the sound of it breaking his nose in the process.

He staggered to his feet, pulling the stooge up with him in a headlock. He fished around in the man's jacket until he procured his cell phone. Wincing at the pain in his arm, he dialled a number before holding the phone in front of the stooge's face.

"Tell Kim you just found my body, or you're a dead man," he hissed.

"Go to hell."

Mahone knew he'd need time he didn't have to convince the stooge to cooperate; in all likelihood, more of his colleagues were on their way.

"That's a shame," he replied.

The stooge's neck broke in one clean twist.

Mahone could see porch lights turning on and curious heads emerging from front doors in response to the gunshot. Dumping the body and the cell phone on the driveway, he clambered into his car and peeled off, not stopping for a red light or even to clean up the blood on his shirt.

* * *

The flight was torturous. Mahone spent most of it flipping between the photos of Pam and Cam inside his wallet, tenuously holding onto the belief that he could get them to safety before Kim caught on to him. The rest of the trip consisted of refusing persistent offers of beverages and pillows. And also refastening the poorly knotted tourniquet around his left arm.

He needed proper medical attention – he knew that. But he needed to get to Durango first.

By the time the plane touched down, Mahone was a nervous wreck. Being as covert as a bleeding man who had been awake and had his life twice threatened over the last 24 hours could be, he picked up his luggage and headed for the airport's car rental service shop.

"And in a surprising turn of events, the head of the Fox River manhunt, Special Agent Alexander Mahone, is now a wanted man himself."

Mahone stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at a nearby row of television screens as a blonde anchorwoman gazed back at him with a dire expression.

"Only a few hours after taking the life of convicted murderer and child rapist Theodore 'T-Bag' Bagwell, police arrived at the scene of a brutal homicide of an unidentified government employee at Mr. Mahone's residence. Witnesses have already reported two sightings of Mr. Mahone at O'Hare International Airport in Chicago. As of yet, his destination is unknown, and authorities are urging anyone with information as to Mr. Mahone's whereabouts to come forward."

Oh, man. Michael and Jack were probably loving this.

Touching his hand to his face for a brief moment, Mahone cast a furtive look around. He spied a businessman dozing in a departure lounge seat. Padding over as casually as he could, he tugged a phone and a PDA out of the man's bag, replacing them with a few wads of cash. Shooting another vigilant glance around the airport, he quickly left.

The sun was fully up by the time Mahone broke into and hotwired the first car he came across. His hand trembled as he pulled out of the parking lot, at the same time punching numbers into his stolen phone.

He couldn't remember a more agonizing wait for a dial tone to end.

"Hello?"

Mahone closed his eyes and swallowed a little as Pam's voice repeated the question two more times. No matter what circumstance he was in, her voice – the one she used when she wasn't angry, at least – always managed to soothe him.

At last, he replied, "Hey. It's me."

The silence went on so long that Mahone almost thought she'd hung up.

"How dare you."

"Pam, please, just listen …"

"I'm going to hang up now, and I'm going to pretend you never called. I won't play a part in having my son's father arrested for murder, but I want you to stay the hell away from me, and from Cameron."

"I would do that," Mahone stammered, biting his tongue to hold back the tears forming in his eyes. "I swear I would do that, and I will do that, but there are other things at work here, and I need to see you first."

"Other things like what, Alex?" yelled his wife, the fear and disgust in her words cutting through him more painfully than any bullet could. "My God, they're saying you killed a man. Killed another human being and left his body to rot on the driveway where our son used to ride his bike and play basketball! Now you want me to leave Cam by himself in a hospital bed to meet up with you? Now you see fit to pay a visit to Colorado a whole week after your son was run down by a car?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"You did. It just didn't involve caring about us."

Mahone wiped his eyes as he pulled over to the side of the road. He checked his rear-view mirror as he steeled himself for what he was about to say.

"Remember Oscar Shales?"

"Like I could forget." A resigned sigh came over the line. "You really did kill him."

"He murdered all those women, Pam. That girl in the shop. Trevor. When I found him, he mocked me with every single thing he'd done and I just … I lost it. But I didn't think that I'd lose you and Cam too."

Pam's silence grew more and more ominous as Mahone recounted in short, swift sentences everything that had happened since Shales' death, starting with Paul Kellerman's visit to his office a month ago, and ending with the attack by the stooge the night before. When he finished, he was almost afraid to hear Pam's response.

"You did all that for us?" she asked finally, her tone softer and far more vulnerable than he expected.

"Yes."

He wasn't sure what she was thinking.

"God damn you, Alex."

Ah.

"You should've told someone," Pam continued, each word gaining in ferocity. "That's the problem with you – nobody's trustworthy enough in your eyes. You're incapable of asking for help."

"Believe me. At the start, I tried."

"All you did was dig a hole I can't even begin to try to help you out of."

"Damnnit Pam, they were going to kill you!" Mahone shouted, unable to control his temper. "You want to know what they sent me after I tried to set up a meeting with that IA guy, Richard Sullins? A copy of your house keys, and your car keys. Any moment after that, if I even thought about speaking up, they would've gunned you down, and I wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing about it!"

Mahone instantly regretted his outburst as he heard Pam emit a half-sob from her end.

"Oh, man. Oh man. I'm sorry. Pam. Pam? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I have to go."

"Don't … leave me like this," Mahone begged, his voice cracking. "I can still make this right. I have a plan. I have a plan, and once I do it, everyone will leave you alone."

"Alex …"

"I still love you," he blundered on. "I never stopped. You're the only good thing I ever had in my life. You and Cam. I wasted it, I know, and I don't deserve another chance. But don't get yourself killed because you're afraid of seeing me. I would never hurt you. They will."

Mahone's heart thudded dully as he waited for Pam to respond. Finally, after an eternity, she whispered, "I love you, too."

In spite of everything that was happening, Mahone couldn't stop a beatific smile from lighting his features. Composing himself, he cleared his throat and checked his rear-view mirror again before he replied.

"So you'll come meet me?"

"Yes. But … Cameron."

A frown crept over Mahone's face. "He hasn't been released yet."

"No. The doctor says he'll have to stay at least another week for observation."

Mahone bounced a closed fist against the steering wheel, thinking hard.

"Is there somewhere close to the hospital we can meet? As long as Cam stays where he is, he'll be safe, and that's more than enough time for me to do what I have to. But you won't be. You need to go into hiding. Only for a little while," he added, as Pam let out a small sigh of frustration.

"There's a coffee house called the Cabana Moose a couple of blocks away," she said after a pause. "And an alley right beside it. It'd give us some privacy."

"I'll be right there." He lowered his voice in earnest. "I'll always be there for you, Pam."

"Hurry, Alex."

She hung up.

Going automatically on to the next step of the plan he'd rigidly prepared on his flight, Mahone dropped the phone and switched on the PDA. Gunning the engine, he pulled up a map of the area before he'd even reached the next traffic light. The coffee house couldn't be more than 15 minutes out.

There was only one more thing to do. Ironically enough, it all came down to an event occurring that Mahone had more faith would happen than Pam's eventual forgiveness of him.

The site came up in a flash. He typed his message in with hurried fingers.

Fish: trouble in NM. They have MCZ. Need you here or they'll hurt her. Please help. – 3.5Nando

Mahone closed the browser and tossed the PDA onto the passenger seat. Squinting at the street signs flying by, he allowed a derisive smirk to etch itself onto his mouth. If there was one thing he could rely on in this insane mess he called his life, it was Michael's bleeding heart.

Now all he had to do was wait. And find Pam, at last.

* * *

The coffee house was a cosy little building that reminded Mahone immediately of the bar where he'd first met Pam. It had been a late Thursday night. He'd been dragged out of his dorm by his college roommate and subjected to an entire night's worth of cringe-inducing embarrassment.

Firstly, his friend had spilt beer all over the library book Mahone had been studying from. Then he'd been subjected to an impromptu double date as his roommate had attempted to hook himself up with a random freshman.

When his own 'date' had grown bored and moved on to the next table, Pam had strolled up and slumped down next to him. She'd peered at the ruined book and asked him which one was his favourite: Tennyson or Dryden. Tired and irritable, Mahone had called them both dipsticks, and asked her to leave him alone while he waited for his roommate to pass out.

So it had come as a complete surprise when she'd tugged his head down and planted a long and passionate kiss on his mouth.

As he'd reeled, she'd explained that she'd been watching him for weeks in their comm class. That she'd admired his intellect – among other assets – from the start, and had been trying to muster the courage to say something to him; but he'd always seemed lost in his own world. And then, after flirtatiously imparting the fact that she'd be sitting at the end of the fourth row the next day, Pam had stood and left without another word.

She hadn't left him much choice but to fall in love with her after that.

Mahone grinned at the memory as he parked his stolen sedan across the street. Hurrying over to the small alleyway Pam had directed him to, he wondered amusedly whether the locale was a deliberate choice on her part to make him remember that night all those years ago.

"Pam?" he called, tucking his holstered gun further inside his jacket so as not to frighten her.

There was nothing in plain sight except a large dumpster at the end of the alley. Moving closer, however, Mahone could make out a pair of leather boots, then jeans, then a billowy purple top, and finally Pam in her entirety, sitting on a milk crate with her lovely head tilted back against the wall. He straightened his shoulders and walked up to her.

"You look beautiful," he breathed.

It was at about the same time he realised Pam wasn't moving that he noticed the trickle of blood seeping down the side of her forehead.

No.

"Oh my God," he gasped, stumbling over his own feet and taking his wife in his arms. "Pam. Pam. Pam. No. Pam. No, no, no. Come on. Pam. Pammy. Pamela. Pamela!"

She nearly slipped out of his grasp – he was trembling so violently. But there was no way she was … she couldn't be … he could still smell her familiar scent, and she was still warm, and there was blood on his hands and on his jacket and on his shirt, and now he could see the wounds in her chest as well, but she was so warm, and they were together at last, and this wasn't happening.

He screamed.

Sirens were wailing in the distance. They'd set him up – Kim and his psychotic employees had set him up – but he didn't care anymore. Cradling Pam with one hand, he pulled his gun out and pressed it to his temple. Nothing mattered anymore.

Cam.

He slammed his palm against his forehead, crying now, unable to comprehend that the dead woman in his arms was his wife, and that he'd very nearly consigned his son to a similar fate – if it hadn't already happened.

No, don't. Don't think like that. Don't. Get out. Find him. Get out. Out. Go. Now!

"I'm so sorry," he sobbed, kissing Pam again and again and caressing her raven hair. "I'm so sorry. So sorry."

And in an act that felt akin to ripping his own heart out through his chest, Mahone eased Pam back against the wall and spun away. He climbed up a drainpipe at the end of the alley. Reaching the top of the wall, he cast a final, hollow look down at his wife. At the same time, he saw a barrage of police cars arrive at the other end of the alley.

He dropped. No sooner had his feet hit the ground on the other side of the wall that he was staggering onto the road, waving his gun with abandon. A car screeched to a halt in front of him; its bumper barely missed smacking into him. He turned his weapon on the driver.

"Get out of the car!" he roared, manoeuvring his way over to the driver door and wrenching it open. "Get out, or they'll be cleaning you off the windshield for the next month!"

The man inside took one look at the wild-eyed and blood-soaked carjacker before him and obeyed, hands raised. Mahone grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him onto the ground. With a crazed glare around at the frightened witnesses on the sidewalk, he jumped into the car and took off.

He didn't know how he managed to keep a grasp on the steering wheel or the cell with his shaking hands, or how it was possible that he got the number right on the first go. A gentle voice answered on the third ring.

"This is reception, how may I …"

"Patch me through to Paediatrics," he butted in, running a red light. "Room 217. Right now."

"And whom should I say is calling?"

"Just get me on the line!" Mahone barked, the tears dripping from his face starting to sting the cuts on his hand.

He could see the hospital in the distance. Abandoning the car on the side of the road, he set off running, all the while waiting fretfully for the receptionist to transfer his call.

At last, there was a beep.

"Cameron?" he said breathlessly, slowing down as he turned a corner and spotted a squad car driving by.

"Your boy's napping, Alex," a dry female voice replied.

Mahone collapsed out of sight against a stack of metal bins. He lowered his head against his knees.

"Who is this?"

"Call me Agent Brinker," the woman said. "Oh. And Agent Kim's getting slightly worried about you."

"Don't you even think about hurting him," Mahone snarled.

"Please. That's the same paranoia that compelled you to homicide my colleague yesterday, run to Colorado and – stupidly, might I add – call your wife."

Mahone held a closed fist between his teeth as the tremors running through his body grew worse. He began to hyperventilate.

"Cameron is safe for now," Brinker continued. "He has a week left here. A week. That's almost how long you have to either put a bullet in your head, or turn yourself in to us so that we can deal with you … properly."

"And you'll just leave Cam alone," said Mahone, in a disbelieving voice etched with panic.

"Yeah."

"Right. Well, I'm sorry. I really am. But allow me a certain case of justifiable doubt while I recall how you people killed my wife!" He all but screamed the last words.

"You'll just have to trust us. Isn't that what Pamela said to you? That you don't trust enough people?"

"A leap of faith isn't feasible right about now. If he wasn't being watched by hospital staff, you would've hurt my son already."

"Maybe you're right." Brinker's voice grew more impatient. "But he's ours in a week. Just give up, Alex. Do that, and you'll get to see your son before you go."

"He's five years old," Mahone choked out.

"And five days is all you have."

The line went dead.

Several lifetimes seemed to pass as Mahone rocked back and forth on the ground, agonizing over what to do. If he surrendered, Cam was dead. If he killed himself, Cam was dead. If he tried to get into Cam's room, he was caught, and they were both dead. If he called anyone for help, the consequences would be even worse.

Mahone stopped and raised his head. Though it ached to remember, Pam had been right – he had to start trusting people. Or, at least, start trusting them in the sense of his own definition of the word.

He drew the PDA from his jacket pocket and stared down at it through blurry eyes. On the screen, with morbid predictability, was a new message.

Nando: sorry to hear. Will lend a hand. Tell me where you are. – Fish40

Hastening back to his purloined car, Mahone entered in the relevant directions and coordinates. When he finished his reply, he leaned back in the driver seat, trying to hold it together. Then, making sure he hadn't been seen, he pulled back onto the street and sped off.

This was all going to work out. Cam would be OK, and in due time, Kim and Kellerman and Brinker and anyone else who'd seen fit to drag him through the mud would get their due.

And Michael was going to help him, whether he wanted to or not.


	7. The Scofield Ultimatum

_Chapter 7: The Scofield Ultimatum_

* * *

For the first time in 18 months, it wasn't the sound of a rifle banging against the metal bars of a cell that woke Jack up, but a stream of sunlight shining through an actual window. His yawn turned into a grunt of pain as he rolled over a fresh wound on his upper back. Sitting up on the hotel bed, he took in his surroundings, still quite unable to believe how much his situation had changed in the space of a day.

Mahone had dropped him off here the night before. Jack had supposed that the FBI agent had a family to go home to, and therefore hadn't wanted Jack intruding in on his territory. But Jack understood that. He had never been one to mix work and family if he could help it.

Stretching his stiff arms, he padded into the bathroom and had a long shower that felt like heaven itself. He'd never believed he could miss things as simple as hot water, towels and shaving cream.

Crossing the room to the lounge, he switched on the television. He stared at the screen for a few minutes, just drinking in the familiar yet unfamiliar images.

Finally, his stomach rumbled. He entered the kitchen area and opened the fridge. Inside, he found a whole plateful of blueberry pancakes, courtesy of the hotel no doubt. He peeled off the cling wrap eagerly. It was ambrosia to his taste buds.

"In a statement released early this morning, the circumstances surrounding Caroline Reynolds' abrupt self-removal from office yesterday afternoon were further laid out in detail."

Jack's ears perked up mid-bite through his fourth pancake.

"According to medical officials, the former President's illness was only detected as little as one week ago. While rumours continue to percolate, it appears in all certainty that current Vice President James Heller will be taking over as Commander in Chief."

Dropping the pancake and making his way back over to the lounge, Jack rubbed his jaw in disbelief. His mouth was slightly agape as the blonde newscaster began to reel out a short biography of his former employer. His mind raced.

No, Bill definitely hadn't mentioned anything about Jim being Vice President. His friend had seen fit to mention only Karen's role in the Reynolds administration. If Jack wasn't so grateful that he'd been in a position to talk with Bill at all, he would've felt annoyed at being deprived of such a vital piece of information. But the only emotion coursing through his veins right now was confusion.

Was this why Audrey had moved to Chicago?

He finished off the plate of pancakes and went to his bedroom to get changed as a panel of political analysts argued with each other over the consequences of Reynolds' resignation. By the time he came back into the main room, they'd been replaced by the anchorwoman again. The mugshots of Michael Scofield, Lincoln Burrows and Fernando Sucre were up in a corner of the screen, and the newscaster was explaining that the trail for the remaining escapees had gone cold.

Jack tilted his head thoughtfully as he packed his bag for the day. On one hand, even though the primary objective of his current assignment was to investigate Mahone and uncover the agent's true agenda, he did also have the responsibility of bringing the rest of the cons in. Still – he was half hoping that nothing would come up on the three men, at least for today.

His desire to see Audrey was growing more and more urgent with every hour that he was back on home soil. Maybe it was too soon; maybe he was being selfish. But he couldn't deny that the prospect of an early break from work and a chance to contact Audrey sounded more inviting to him than catching any of the fugitives.

"And in a surprising turn of events, the head of the Fox River manhunt, Special Agent Alexander Mahone, is now a wanted man himself."

On second thought.

"Police arrived at the scene of a brutal homicide of an unidentified government employee at Mr. Mahone's residence …"

Jack didn't think he could take any more outlandish news reports. Flicking the television off, he slung his bag over his shoulder and hurried out the door.

The morning traffic was atrocious. Nevertheless, it gave Jack time to think as he stewed in the back seat of his cab.

It didn't make any sense – that was the only definite. Mahone had acted more than a little unhinged the day before, certainly; but Jack had been able to discern from a mere glance into his partner's eyes that killing a man – even a deranged rapist like Bagwell – had a disturbing effect on his psyche. It just didn't match up with Mahone's purported cold-blooded murder of some random government worker.

And Jack had only known Mahone for less than 12 hours.

He swore quietly as his cab pulled up in front of the Chicago FBI field office. Stationed around the entrance was what appeared to be an entire battalion of reporters, all of whom were pouncing on anyone who attempted to get in or out of the building. He wasn't aware of any back door he could sneak through, and frankly, he was already running late.

Taking a deep breath, he paid the cab driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He hadn't made it more than five steps before a young man with a buzz cut turned around and bugged his eyes out at him.

"Mr. Bauer!"

That set them all off.

"Will you be assuming control over the Fox River manhunt?"

"Is it true you once worked for Vice President Heller?"

"What are your thoughts on the homicide pertaining to Special Agent Alexander Mahone?"

Jack wasn't used to large media scrums like this. Or, as of late, any large crowds at all. As he wound his way through the throngs of shouting people, he managed only weak repetitions of the words 'no' and 'comment' as he began to feel dizzy. By the time he'd left the reporters behind and entered the FBI office's foyer, he was clutching his shirt, feeling like it was choking him.

An involuntary shudder ran through his body. He cursed himself.

All he wanted to do was leave China in the past – take up the reins of the life he'd left behind, and never look back. But it was becoming obvious that some of his scars would never heal. And that they would, if he stayed any longer in this line of work, consume him completely.

"Sir? You OK?"

Jack pulled his head up from where he stood slumped against a marble column. The African-American agent he'd met the day before was peering at him from a few feet away, her eyes twin pools of concern and nervousness.

"I'm fine," replied Jack, quickly gaining a hold of himself. He straightened up. "Agent Lang, right?"

The woman blinked her surprise that he remembered her name or even bothered to use it.

"Yes, sir."

"Please. I wasn't lying when I said it was alright to call me Jack."

As they made their way into the main office, Lang filled him in on their current leads. The floor was even more chaotic this time around – clearly, the ranking agent's new status as a fugitive wanted for murder was having an impact. Still, it was a testament to Mahone's organisational and leadership skills that only a few people scurried to Jack to ask for directives. Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing.

After issuing a final order to a frazzled junior agent who had been looking up hotels and caravan parks in the area surrounding Michael Scofield's last confirmed sighting for the past two days, Jack's attention caught on a small party of suits inside Mahone's office.

They were tearing the place apart.

"What's going on in there?" he asked Lang, sharing a suspicious glance with one of the men.

She shrugged as the suits stacked up boxes of papers on a trolley and began to file out of the room. Jack watched them go with a mordant grimace. He jerked around as a male voice spoke up behind him.

"That was IA," drawled the agent named Wheeler.

Jack stared. Wheeler shifted uncomfortably, the smug look on his face wiping off.

"I just got off the phone with Bill Buchanan," the younger man continued. "He wanted you to know that since Agent Mahone is no longer within reach to allow a close inspection of his actions, you've been given permission to take yourself off the manhunt. He could send a replacement within the hour. Not that your help in procuring Bagwell hasn't been appreciated," he added, as Lang elbowed him.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Jack's face. Bill knew how much he wanted to see Audrey and Kim, and in all probability, his friend could get either of them on the line in ten seconds flat if he left the FBI office right now and called him.

But, like a dagger poking at the back of his skull, Jack's curiosity over Mahone's current predicament was snowballing. It didn't feel right to hand over the hunt to someone else when there were still so many unanswered questions.

Before Jack could come to a decision, someone whistled from a room across the floor. He, Lang and Wheeler looked around as a spectacled technician waved them over.

"Field report just came in from Colorado. You're gonna want to see this."

The feeling of apprehension in Jack's stomach festered as he strolled into a room plastered from floor to ceiling with computers and viewing monitors. On several of the screens was paused an image of a road from some determinably grainy security footage.

"Watch this," said the technician, as Jack raised an eyebrow at him.

The video started playing. Jack's expression transitioned from dull disinterest to barely restrained disquiet as he watched a tall and bloody figure limp onto the road. A car stopped in front of the person. It wasn't hard to see who the focus of the camera was when he turned his head around in order to better aim his gun at the driver.

"This was the last concrete sighting of Mr. Mahone," said the technician, as the agent's onscreen counterpart threw the driver onto the road and fled in the car. "We've already sent an APB out on the vehicle to every station near the Colorado and Mexican borders."

"No. He's too smart not to ditch it."

"It's the best we've got so far."

"Why would he be all the way out in –" Jack scanned the report Lang had handed him "– Durango?"

"There's more, sir," said Wheeler, gazing up from his own copy of the report. "Pamela Mahone. Her body was found not far away – only a couple of blocks from the hospital where Cameron Mahone is currently in recovery."

The other agents in the room murmured to each other in shock, appalled at what they were hearing about their former boss. Jack's jaw tightened.

"Could there be any explanation why he snapped like this? Maybe an affair between the man he killed yesterday and his ex-wife?"

"I don't think so, Jack."

"If you don't mind my saying so, sir," Wheeler piped in, "Agent Mahone has exhibited several signs of drug dependence and psychosis over the last few weeks. I don't think there's any more to it than the fact he went off the deep end."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask you, did I?" snapped Jack, irritated by the younger agent's attitude.

Wheeler looked suitably chastened as Jack kneaded his temple.

"I want a protective detail for Alex's son sent out to the hospital as soon as possible."

"On it," replied Lang, heading out the door.

"And you." He turned back to Wheeler, who flinched. "Call Mr. Buchanan and tell him that my work isn't done here yet."

"Of course, sir." Wheeler hesitated. "And, uh, you can start using Agent Mahone's office as your own, if you want. It's been cleaned out."

Though it felt inappropriate to accept such a proposal, Jack nodded his assent. He would need a larger space now that he was taking on Mahone's responsibilities. Wheeler pulled out his cell and left as Jack began dictating more orders.

A whole hour passed before Jack managed to free himself from the main office and enter Mahone's, closing the door behind him. He sank into the high-backed chair. Glancing around, he felt almost rude for having impinged on what was evidently quite a personal space for his partner.

The desk in front of him had been cleared off, save for a phone and – as Jack noted with gloomy interest as he leaned forward – a photo frame of a smiling woman holding a young boy in her arms. They were standing on what appeared to be a cruise ship. The frame looked worn around the edges; it had been picked up and stared at quite a few times.

What were you thinking, Alex?

The desk phone gave an abrupt, shrill ring. Jack started, unsure whether to answer it. The number was still Mahone's after all, and Jack didn't want to have to deal with the awkwardness of somebody calling for his partner. But anyone in a position to do such a thing surely had to have seen the news by now.

He picked up. "Yeah?"

There was a silence on the other end punctuated only by soft breathing.

"This is provisional ranking agent Jack Bauer, how can I help you?" he said, stretching his introduction out in the hope that it would provoke a response.

After another lull, a male voice finally spoke.

"I take it you've assumed Alex's former position in the manhunt."

Jack's eyes widened by the tiniest fraction. On one hand, there was no way the man was reckless enough to place a direct call to his office. On the other, the smooth, confident voice on the line was indistinguishable from the one he'd heard on the video Bill had shown him.

He cleared his throat.

"You calling to wish me luck, Michael?"

A dry chuckle sounded over the phone. "Hardly."

Getting over his incredulity, Jack pushed his chair away and reached for the door. A tiny sigh escaped the former structural engineer.

"For the record, Jack, I truly hope you haven't underestimated me enough to think I'm calling on a traceable phone."

Jack pulled his hand away from the door.

"So you're using the one belonging to the Secret Service agent who bailed you out of Albuquerque," he said, sitting back down and shaking his head at the nerve of the con.

"I stole it from him, actually, before he got dumped on the side of the road. But, uh … yeah."

Jack searched on his phone's number pad for a recording function. Finding none, he slumped back in his seat.

"What do you want?"

"It's not what I want, it's what I can give you in exchange for what I want." Michael's voice hitched a little, and he paused as he tried to cover up his less-than-calm demeanour. "I bet CTU agents know all about making compromises in the line of duty."

"I don't believe my former occupation is relevant at the moment."

"Actually, it is. Four years ago. Los Angeles. Vice President James Heller. His daughter, Audrey Raines. Kidnapped by terrorists. Saved by a DOD employee working directly under the former Secretary of Defence … namely, Jack Bauer."

"You've been doing your homework," Jack said in an indifferent tone, not wanting to give Michael any leverage over the conversation. "If you want to compare notes on breaking people out of prisons without the need for full-body tattoos, feel free to come in and visit."

"Funny, Jack. I'm amazed you still have a sense of humour after China."

Jack's insides felt like they were being taken to by a blunt axe. For the first time, anger lingered in his voice as he responded, "Don't even think to bring that up with me."

"I already did. I know all about you, Jack. What you've done for this country. And I know you can get me the things I want."

"A list would help," replied Jack in a sardonic voice.

"Then I'll get straight to the point. The next President is going to be inaugurated within a couple of days. When he does, I'm sure he'll listen to the man who once saved his life, and be more than willing to issue Presidential pardons to Lincoln Burrows and Sara Tancredi, clearing them of all their crimes."

Jack remained silent, wondering whether the long weeks on the run had finally caught up with Michael's sanity.

"Next, there's going to be a trial at Cook County Courthouse, today at noon. Dr. Sara Tancredi is arriving there for her first hearing. Intercepting her transport vehicle and breaking her out should be easy for you. Afterwards, I need you to …"

"Maybe find a plausible explanation why freeing the doctor is necessary when she'll be fully exonerated anyway?" Jack cut in. "Are you out of your mind?"

Michael didn't miss a beat. "The partner of a close friend of mine is in danger right now, because of the same people who set my brother up. I can only presume Sara's life is equally in jeopardy. I won't take the chance that she'll be safe where she is."

"So you want me to free her and bring her to meet you."

"Yes. To a warehouse in New Mexico, precisely speaking."

"That's risky, even for you. Going back to where you and Lincoln were last caught."

"Considering what we've been through, I'd barely regard it as a risk," said Michael coolly. "And for the benefit of sparing you from asking the obvious question – I do have something that will make all of the trouble worth it."

"I doubt that, Michael."

"You were brought into the FBI manhunt not to capture any of us, but to uproot the Company. Well, here's the thing: I have exactly what you need to do that. Documents, and names, and several other pieces of evidence that would be more than enough to bring them down."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it."

Jack could almost hear the wheels in Michael's head turning. When the con spoke again, his voice was gentler, less vicious and more urgent.

"You were freed from China because you have a history with the Company. They killed your friends, they forced you into hiding, and they tipped off the Chinese government when you came back. They ruined your life."

Jack gritted his teeth. "You just happened to find that out on your own."

"Let's just say I've familiarised myself with the people who conspired to put my brother on death row. But back on topic. I know you want them to pay as badly as I do."

"You don't know the first thing about me."

"Come on, Jack. If you had any other leads on the Company, you would've hung up by now. All I'm asking is that you liberate two people who never did anything wrong."

"But you've committed a federal crime," said Jack, making a deliberate choice to ignore his own hypocrisy. "You've committed several crimes, actually."

"I didn't say I wanted a pardon for myself," Michael rebutted sadly. "I've done terrible things, and I'm willing to go back to prison as penance. The only thing stopping me from doing that already is that I need the people I love protected first. I need the Company destroyed."

A sliver of regret shot through Jack at his own presumptuousness. He stood, stretching his legs, trying to figure out a way to agree to Michael's terms without falling into any trap he might be attempting to set up. An idea came to him suddenly that made his throat constrict.

The excuse was too perfect to give up.

"I'll get the doctor out," he finally muttered. "But Dr. Tancredi stays in the state, and I don't even begin to make calls to try and arrange a meeting with Vice President Heller until I see proof of this so-called evidence."

"Fine. As long as you take her somewhere safe, and as long as you come down to where I am."

"Not eager to return to Chicago, Michael?"

"I do miss it … but, well, my last visit didn't agree too well with me. Besides, I want us to meet in a place that doesn't invite a betrayal on your part."

"Where?"

"Not so fast. I want to talk to Sara first, after you get her out. I want to be sure you don't go back on your word before I give you my location, or anything else."

Growing more enlightened by the second as to just how much of a gifted planner the Joliet breakout mastermind was, Jack agreed to the deal. Michael hid his relief poorly as he recited his number.

"And you arrive alone and unarmed," he finished. "If you set the cops on me, I'll know it, I'll walk, and you'll get nothing."

"That's only reasonable. Expect an update soon, Michael."

"I'll be waiting."

No sooner had Jack slammed the receiver back into the cradle that he lifted it again and dialled another number. A raspy voice that sounded like its owner was long overdue for a good nap answered.

"Buchanan speaking."

"Hey, Bill. It's Jack."

"Jack." The other man seemed to be less surprised than he did pleased. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. Listen – I'm gonna need to call in a couple of favours …"

* * *

Despite the suffocating heat of the overpass he was parked on, a tiny, anticipatory grin was plastered on Jack's face. It had been stuck there for a while now.

Bill had been less than pleased when Jack had told him that he needed a fake passport and a supply of weapons and equipment delivered to a close-by rental locker. His friend had rightly assumed that he was planning to go off the grid. After demanding an explanation and getting it, Bill had sighed and told Jack that he couldn't sanction any such thing, before hanging up.

Which – given all of the other times Jack had implored Bill to help him go rogue – had really meant, "You better be right, and don't get caught".

He'd been waiting from a good vantage point on the side of the road for the last quarter of an hour. His eyes, however, had spent more time on his cell, waiting for it to ring. Naturally, when it did, he was busy loading a tranq gun. He dropped it and snatched up the phone from the dashboard, answering on the second buzz.

"This is Jack."

"Jack, it's Agent Lang. I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something important, but there's been a sighting of Fernando Sucre just off the Mexican border. By the time Border Patrol showed up, he was gone."

Jack sighed, not sure whether his nerves could take on anything else at the current moment.

"Let me get this straight. He fled to Mexico, came back to the States, and now he's escaped the country again?"

"Looks like it."

"Unbelievable." Jack scanned the vehicles driving below through the windshield. "I'm busy right now following up another lead, Lang, so I'm putting you in charge of bringing in Sucre. You think you can handle that?"

Lang didn't say anything for a moment, presumably chuffed. Then, "Thank you, sir."

"Don't call this line again. If you get anything on Sucre, pass it on to Bill Buchanan …"

Jack's cell phone gave a sudden beep. His heart leapt. Quickly ending Lang's call with an encouraging word of support, he transferred over. The number was unfamiliar, but he knew deep down that it was her.

He pulled himself together, mussing his hair with a nervous hand.

"Hey, Audrey," he said at last.

A sharp intake of breath came over the other end of the line. The single note conveyed everything the caller was feeling at the moment: shock, awe, and relief.

"I couldn't believe it when Bill told me."

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

"No." There was a pause, then a small laugh that Jack remembered so well. "It doesn't matter. I know what you're doing. I know why you're doing it, too, and I want to help. I'm on my way home right now."

Jack closed his eyes, smiling weakly. He hated exposing Audrey to any kind of danger whatsoever, but simply talking to her over the phone was the closest thing to happiness he'd felt in a long time.

"You know I wouldn't bring you into this if there was anyone else I could trust."

"Anyone else in Chicago, at least," she teased.

Giving a half-hearted chuckle, Jack replied, "About that …"

"I don't work for DOD anymore, Jack. When you disappeared, when I lost you again, I couldn't take that life for another second. I quit, and I spent the next few weeks just … just trying to find you. When I did, I used everything available, all the back channels I knew, to get you out. I spent nine months in China, but nothing worked. Eventually, my cousin called me, told me I'd end up losing my mind unless I moved on. So I came back, and he offered me a place to stay until I recovered. And I'm still here."

A thousand questions ran through Jack's mind, all aching to be brought up, all aching to be answered.

Finally, he rather stupidly asked, "Will your cousin be out of the house for the amount of time we need?"

"Of course. He's been gone all week on a business trip – he won't be back for a couple of days."

"Oh. Good." Jack hedged on his next words, the awkwardness becoming unbearable. "Listen, Audrey –"

"I know, Jack," she interrupted, her voice soft and amused. "It's nearly noon, and you have a van to watch out for. We can talk about everything soon enough. Be careful."

"I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

Jack smiled, half in euphoria and half in sadness, as they exchanged goodbyes and ended the call. Leaning back in his seat, attuned more than ever to the vehicles passing on the road below, he went over Audrey's story again.

She'd wasted nearly a year of her life for him, and he was repaying her by bringing her as close as possible to the mercy of the people who'd dragged her into that whole mess in the first place.

Guilt wasn't the word for it.

Neither was this the time to dwell on it.

Swivelling around and placing a pair of binoculars to his eyes, he made out a distinct vehicle approaching the bridge he was stationed on. In quick succession, he climbed out of the car, popped open the trunk and pulled out the bag Bill had left for him. From it, he extracted a thick length of rope, a pair of gloves and a balaclava.

He slipped the last two items over his hands and head. Striding over to the front bumper of the car, he secured the rope to it with a taut figure-of-eight knot.

In perfect time, there was the sound of braking tires and a dying engine.

Ripping off his car's side mirror and holding it over the edge of the bridge, Jack watched as the van's driver and another guard exited the vehicle. They both peered down at the front left tyre.

"Damn it, Al, I thought you said you had this piece of junk inspected last week."

"You think I want to be stuck out here any more than you do?" the driver snapped, flushed and annoyed. "'Specially with her in there? Go get the reserve."

Jack slid down the rope and landed smoothly on top of the van as the second guard walked around to the back. As both guards looked up at him in shock and grasped fruitlessly for their weapons, he plugged them with a tranq dart each to the neck.

They dropped. Jack threw his tranq gun aside, jumped off the van roof to the ground and opened the back doors. Inside, a third guard and a wide-eyed woman with auburn hair tied back in a ponytail blinked out at him. Without hesitating, he pulled out his automatic and aimed it at the guard.

"Uncuff her or I will blow out both your knees."

The guard mutely nodded and obeyed. Sara Tancredi gazed at Jack with a mixture of fear and resignation – evidently, this hadn't been the first time she'd stared down the barrel of a gun.

"Keep those on her," Jack barked as the guard moved his keys towards Sara's cuffed hands. "Restrain yourself against the wall. You – move to me slowly, and don't do anything stupid."

Sara weighed her options in all of two seconds before shaking her head. Jack stepped closer inside the van, lowering his gun slightly.

"Lady, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. I'm on your side, and I think you already know who sent me. Now, the sooner we get out of here, the –"

If Jack hadn't spent the last 18 months incarcerated in an environment that encouraged the loss of his formerly pitch-perfect instincts, he would've spotted the guard's movements far sooner than he did – namely, when the guard shoved Sara out of the van, making her collide with him and sending them both sprawling onto the road together.

The gun flew out of Jack's hand.

Groaning as he felt gravel digging into his back, Jack only barely managed to roll out of the way in time before a metal baton came crashing down on top of him. He jerked to his feet as the guard reached for his holster, wearing the expression of a man not wanting to take any chances.

Jack side-stepped and threw himself forward. As the guard lifted his gun, Jack grabbed the man's hand and twisted. The guard yelled and dropped the weapon.

Before Jack could do anything else to incapacitate him, however, the guard swung his other baton-loaded hand around and caught him on the shoulder. Grunting in pain, Jack stumbled, affording the guard another blow to the back of his knees. Jack had no choice but to drop on purpose.

As the guard backed up a few steps and reached down for his gun, Jack lashed out, sweeping his leg forward in a rapid roundhouse kick that caught the other man in both shins. The guard was tough though – he didn't fall. That didn't stop the explosion of pain in his legs, however, and taking advantage of the distraction, Jack rose and sucker-punched him squarely in the face.

The guard collapsed like a stone.

Jack whirled around to where he'd last seen Sara. The doctor was lying on her front, inching slowly towards his dropped gun. He quickly lifted it out of her grasp and pointed it straight down into her half-terrified, half-resolute face.

"We don't have much time. Get up."

"How do I know you won't torture me for information before you decide to shoot me?" she asked, sitting up but remaining on the ground.

"Because I don't give a damn about you," Jack replied, pulling his balaclava off. "Now you can either stay here and become someone's patsy in prison for the next ten years, or come with me and see Michael Scofield again."

Sara's eyes widened in surprise as Jack stashed his gun away and proffered a hand. She took it reluctantly, and he pulled her to her feet. As he searched the third guard's pockets for the keys to her handcuffs, she shook her head in confusion.

"So … Michael sent you to come get me?"

"He has reason to believe your life may be in danger."

Finding the keys and unlocking Sara's handcuffs, he motioned for her to follow him up the hill to where his car was waiting.

"Is he still down in Panama?" she asked as they climbed into the car and drove off. "Is he OK? Is Lincoln OK? Alright, look – you can't just expect me to believe what you've said unless you start answering me."

Jack continued to ignore her as he pulled out his cell and dialled a number. After a few tones, he tossed the phone over to her. She caught it. Sharing a brief, grudging look with him, she answered.

"Hello?"

There was a moment's silence before a sigh of relief escaped her lips.

"Michael."

Jack kept his attention to himself as much as he could as the colour came back to Sara's cheeks. She chatted with the con in a lively, animated way that left no question as to her relationship with the man.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine … I didn't get hurt … I know … You didn't have to do this … I can take care of myself … That's awful … I hope you find her … Just be safe, Michael … Love you, too."

Jack pulled into a dusty part of the city close by a subdivision of apartment blocks. Sara handed him back the phone, a newfound hope in her eyes. Jack took it, and wasted no time in grilling Michael.

"I got you Tancredi, now tell me where you are."

"There's a large warehouse in Santa Fe," replied Michael in a calm dulcet. "392 Jablonsk Road. Broughart Manufacturing. I'll be there at 7 o'clock tonight."

"Fine."

"I want to thank you, Jack. For doing this."

"OK," Jack said, preparing to hang up.

"Wait."

Jack sighed and glared at Sara as she stepped out of the car and leaned against the hood, her gaze affixed on a red Mini parked across the small lot. He climbed out as well, surveying the area to make sure they hadn't been followed, before snapping at Michael.

"Keep me on the line any longer and both of us will get caught before you manage to see either of us."

"How's the manhunt for Alex going?"

Jack chuffed. "What?"

"It'd be nice to hear how things are going with Alex," said the con, indifferent to Jack's disbelief. "What he did to his ex-wife – it's all over the news."

Jack hesitated before he answered, caught off guard as he was by the concern in Michael's voice that sounded more like worry for the FBI agent's well-being rather than his own.

"It's only a matter of time before we find him."

"I called him in his office, a few weeks ago," Michael said, amused and edgy at the same time. "After I, uh … borrowed Pamela Mahone's cell phone. When he heard it was me on the line instead of her, his reaction wasn't one of a man who'd ever hurt his family. This probably doesn't count for much, Jack, but … I think there's a chance Alex might've been framed."

"You've been insisting all this time that he's tried to kill you on countless occasions," Jack replied, unimpressed. "Now you're defending him?"

"No. I know. I'm just – I'm tired of the Company getting away with things like this. Setting up Alex to find the body of the woman he loved propped up against a wall with bullet holes in her chest? Not even he deserved that. And she definitely didn't."

Jack swallowed as Michael's words conjured up a memory of another woman he himself had cared for more than anything in the world. He coughed, frowned at his reflection in the car window, and promptly buried his emotions.

"Right now Alex doesn't concern you. Holding up your end of the deal does. If you're not at the warehouse at 7 o'clock, my associate will hand Tancredi back over to the authorities, and I will hunt you down myself and lock you away for the rest of your natural life."

Michael sighed. "You have my word, Jack."

He ended the call. Jack pocketed his cell and strode brusquely over to where Sara was standing. As she blinked at him, uncertain of what to say, he handed her a pair of keys and nodded over to the red Mini.

"On the passenger seat, there's a paper with directions to a house less than an hour's drive from here. Make your way straight to it. Knock once on the door. Tell the woman who answers your full name, and she'll let you inside. You'll be safe with her, but if you're tempted to go anywhere else, and I don't get a call within two hours confirming you've arrived …"

"You'll slap Michael in chains and throw him back in jail," Sara finished. "Got it."

Jack grimaced as the doctor stalked off. At the last moment, she turned. The stress and sadness that seemed to have become permanently etched into her delicate features melted away as she gave a small smile.

"I don't know who you are. I don't think even Michael does. But thank you for helping us."

Shifting on his feet, Jack gave an uncomfortable nod. He rubbed a fresh bruise sprouting on his right shoulder as Sara entered the vehicle and peeled off.

Once she was out of sight, he made his way back into his own car and started the engine. There was no time to waste in getting to the airport and to Michael. And he'd need a decent amount of that time to recuperate.

* * *

The flight was hardly luxurious, but it afforded Jack a few hours to sit and rest, which was what he needed.

As he exited the Albuquerque Sunport and flagged down a taxi for the long ride up to Santa Fe, he saw that Audrey had left a voice message for him while he'd been up in the air. Getting into the cab and biting out directions to the driver, he listened to Audrey confirm that Sara had arrived at her place.

He fought the urge to call Audrey back for the entire hour-long trip. Unfortunately, the risks were too great, and furthermore, they both knew how even the slightest slip-up could ruin their lives and many others. Though the Company had been one of the primary banes on his existence for the last four years, Jack still wasn't aware of what they were fully capable of.

It took the cab driver's snapping fingers in front of his face to startle him back to reality. They had stopped in front of the warehouse. Apologising, he paid his fare and exited.

He watched the taxi drive off with a calculated glance. When he was sure he was as alone as he could be on such a bustling industrial road, he spun around and jogged towards the warehouse.

The building looked suitably imposing and dangerous for the equally perilous meeting ahead. Jack hesitated a few feet outside the door as he noted the setting sun behind him, and the darkness within.

Suddenly, a light flamed on in the distance.

Narrowing his eyes, he freed his gun from its holster and aimed it straight forward before he stepped into the warehouse. Covering left to right, he marched towards a lone figure at the far end of the building.

"I thought I told you to come unarmed," Michael said, as Jack finished his approach with his weapon still raised.

Jack regarded the fugitive. Despite wearing a bulky maroon jacket and a baggy pair of cargo pants, there was no mistaking how painfully thin Michael had become during his weeks on the run. Along with the fierceness in his dark-circled hazel eyes, and the way he restlessly scanned his surroundings as much as he did Jack, the con brought to mind the very same FBI agent who'd been hunting him down for so long.

"I'm alone, at least, so be grateful for that," Jack finally replied. "You think I was gonna come down here without some insurance?"

"Well, as you can see, I'm as solo as you are, so put the gun away, or I walk."

Michael visibly relaxed as Jack complied. The two men weighed each other up for a few seconds, before Jack realised just how alone the con was.

"Didn't think you'd show up without your brother," he muttered, half-expecting Lincoln Burrows to pop up behind him and grab him around the neck.

"Right now Linc doesn't concern you," the other man said, a slight smirk curving his lips. "But if you're interested, we had a slight falling out over my decision to come back to the States, and I had to leave him behind."

"The people who nearly had him done in via the chair didn't concern him?"

"Not particularly, no," replied Michael, not quite able to cover up the unease in his voice. "He wanted his life back and he got it. But what I really meant to bring up …"

"You don't have a shred of evidence for me," Jack cut in, glowering at the fact he had fallen so easily for Michael's bait. "Lincoln didn't want a part of this because you wanted me for something else."

"That's not entirely the gist of it, but … yeah. Wait!" Michael held up his hands and took a step backwards as Jack pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Wait. Please. Just listen. I have evidence for you. I do. But I need you to do one more thing for a friend of mine. Just one more thing, and I'll give you anything you want."

"This is getting ridiculous."

Jack felt more than a little angry at being short-changed; however, the genuine desperation and honesty in Michael's plea made him back down. He pocketed the handcuffs and crossed his arms expectantly.

"I'm guessing your friend's the one who arranged this meeting place."

"He did." Michael let out a slight exhalation of relief that Jack wasn't calling for backup at that very moment. He immediately smoothed his features over with what appeared to be an automatic, placid expression. "Fernando Sucre. My former cellmate. You know him, of course."

"Of course," Jack repeated, his jaw twitching. "And do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"Not stupid, Jack, just ignorant of the facts. Earlier I mentioned that the partner of a close friend of mine is in danger. That person is Sucre, and he needs my help in getting a woman named Maricruz back from the Company."

"I've had enough vigilante missions for the day, Michael."

"If Sucre gives himself up, the Company will kill them both," Michael continued vehemently. "If he doesn't, she dies. He needs my help, and I need yours. You have skills and training that neither of us have, and I don't think it's too much to ask that you help save an innocent woman's life."

"Maybe you missed my sarcasm," growled Jack, stepping right up into Michael's face. "Not more than a few hours ago I received intel which placed Fernando Sucre on the Mexican border. There is no way that man is within five kilometres of Santa Fe right now."

Michael's face fell even as he managed not to flinch. "That's impossible – he contacted me directly."

"By phone?" Jack shook his head as Michael placed a palm to his temple. "Right. Because only a postcard labelled 'trap' would've tipped you off."

"I made a mistake, it's done," Michael shot back hotly. "It's nothing more than a hitch in the plan. We go back to Chicago, I show you the evidence, and you get Sara and Linc exonerated – separately or as a cause-and-effect – and all this is rendered irrelevant."

"It is relevant, you idiot. Nobody else except the Company would have reason to use themselves as a decoy to lure you out. They have probably been monitoring our calls, they are probably planning to strike this warehouse any second as we speak, and because you saw fit to trick me into helping with this imaginary rescue mission, I have put in danger the daughter of the President of the United States!"

"Oh, he's good at tricking people alright."

They both spun around. Jack's hands went for his holster, but the delirious man standing before him made a tutting noise, shaking his own weapon in a threatening gesture that his electric blue gaze indicated he wouldn't hesitate to act upon.

Mahone's gun was on Jack, but his steely eyes were glued to the con standing next to him.

"Except I'm better. How've you been, Michael?"


	8. Old Wounds

_Chapter 8: Old Wounds_

* * *

As Mahone edged closer, his breathing coming out in short, rapid bursts, he noted with a generous degree of satisfaction that someone had recently gone to town on Michael's face.

"Scratch the question," he chortled, stopping a safe distance away. "You look like hell."

Michael's bruised face was frozen into an expression that was becoming a permanent fixture of his whenever he laid eyes on Mahone – half full of terror, and half full of vexation that another one of his plans had been thwarted.

Brushing a hasty palm over his eyes to clear his blurred vision, Mahone tore his gaze away from Michael to land on Jack. Judging from the agent's apprehensive frown, it appeared that no man in the darkly lit warehouse had missed how completely they'd been outwitted.

"Hand over your weapons," he ordered his partner.

Jack and Michael shared a brief glance. Mahone fired once into the air before snapping the aim of his gun back onto Jack.

"I've killed twice in the last 24 hours," he said calmly. "My wife … is dead. I have nothing to lose except my son. So do not think to try and pull something on me. Hand over your weapons."

After another pause, Jack pulled out his holstered gun and a thick hunting knife and slid them over. Mahone bent to pick them up. He winced as he bumped his injured arm.

"You've been shot. You need medical help."

"Shut the hell up, Michael." He discarded the weapons and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "It's not even funny how your concern only extends to those who benefit you and your plans. Or in this case, your life."

Michael swallowed as he caught the handcuffs that were thrown at him.

"Chain yourselves to that pipe. I know you have your own pair, Jack. So both of you. Now."

Both men did so without protest – one immediately, the other after a frustrated grimace.

Checking to see that they were fully restrained, Mahone stepped back, holstered his gun, and pulled out the cell he'd purchased on his way down to New Mexico. He punched in the number by memory.

After a few rings, a smarmy voice muttered, "Yes?"

"Mr. Kim. Alex Mahone."

Michael's eyes widened even further as Mahone's greeting was met with silence.

"Alex," answered Kim finally. "Good to hear from you. Save me a flight to Colorado. Tell me you've agreed to cooperate."

"Not exactly," replied Mahone, biting back his anger at Kim's implied threat. "But I am willing to deal. A trade – one I think you'll be highly agreeable with."

"Really. And just what is it you have to offer that I'd be so interested in?"

Mahone covered up the cell with one hand. Inching within grabbing distance of Michael, he freed his gun and raised it squarely between Jack's eyes. The agent's reaction was non-existent, but Michael flinched.

"Say your name and confirm that I have you, or watch me put a bullet in him."

He tossed the cell to Michael. Flicking his gaze between Mahone and Jack, the con uttered into the phone his exact predicament, before handing it back.

"Well," chortled Kim. "That was unexpected."

"Give me back my son and let us disappear forever," Mahone said, turning away from Michael's unbearably self-righteous expression. "And in return, I give you Scofield. Alive or dead. Doesn't matter."

"I could just as easily demand Scofield and your head in return for Cameron."

"Then I'll take the bastard to the news stations and force him myself to name each and every one of you. I will make him ruin you the way you've ruined me. There's an expiration window here, Kim. Don't try me. Take it or leave it."

Mahone paced the floor, avoiding looking at Michael or Jack, as he heard muffled conversation on the other line. Finally, Kim said in a faux pleasant tone, "Where are you?"

After giving Kim the warehouse's address and arranging his son's freedom, Mahone hung up. He rubbed his eyes again as he stowed his cell away. The motion brought his freshly bleeding arm to his attention. He tightened the makeshift tourniquet around it, wincing in the process.

"So that's it, huh? Pass me off to the Company, and you get your life back."

Mahone raised burning, hate-filled eyes to Michael. The con was doing a good job of no longer looking scared.

Yanking out his gun, Mahone stepped over to him. A tide of nausea swept through his body, but he remained steady on his feet as he stared at the younger man.

"I never thought I'd meet a more selfish son of a bitch," he whispered.

Michael's breath caught, but he recovered quickly.

"Define selfish. Because last time I checked, murdering innocent men for the sake of your own reputation doesn't count."

"Not even Bagwell?" Michael deflated, giving away that he'd already been made aware of his fellow escapee's fate. "That's right. I cleaned up your mess. I know it must've occurred to you what freeing a man like that would do. Must've torn you up inside. But you still went ahead. Because deep down, Michael, you're no better than me. We do what we have to do for the people that matter. Right or wrong makes no difference."

Angry tears were sliding down Michael's face. "You killed my father. Back at Bolshoi Booze."

"He was a deadbeat who abandoned you for 30 years," Mahone retorted, shaking his head. "But then, I'm not surprised. You'd form an emotional attachment to a patch of lint if you could."

"I'm not surprised a man who'd kill his own wife would be able to say that."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Michael."

"Why not? Because you finally have me? Because you've finally won? Here's the real truth, Alex. You've lost. You were a failure before you ever even heard of me. Because you couldn't control yourself when you killed Shales. Everything that's happened is your fault. And now you're setting yourself up for another fall."

The pain in Mahone's arm and head were becoming too much. He lost it.

"My fault?" he said loudly, stalking right up to Michael and pressing his gun into the con's neck. "You've shown more concern for convicted criminals than you have for me. And what did I ever do to you, Michael? Are you so full of yourself that you never once understood that they threatened my family, that … that they're threatening my family? That I'm a pawn?"

He waved his free arm at Jack, who was regarding them both with eerie detachment.

"But obviously I'm not trustworthy enough. A month I'm on the case and all you did was threaten and taunt me. A day for him and you've already struck up a truce."

"He's not a killer."

"Don't talk to me like that!" Mahone screamed, digging his weapon further into Michael's neck until the pain became evident on the con's face. "When you told the whole world about what a murderer I am, you put a Company bullseye on my chest. That transferred over to my family. Now Pam is dead because of you!"

"Are you that far gone?" gasped Michael.

Mahone suddenly dry heaved, and he staggered back a few steps. Clutching his chest, the roaring in his ears growing even louder, he reached into his jacket and retrieved the bottle of midazolam he'd picked up on his way out of Colorado. With trembling hands, he shoved two pills into his mouth.

He caught Michael's disbelieving glare as he stashed them away.

"Bullet wounds are more painful than you think," he rasped, sitting on a nearby crate and levelling his gun. "I'd show you firsthand, but I do believe the Company wants their precious cargo unharmed."

"Alex."

Mahone sighed and looked at Jack, who stared back just as stoically.

"They don't know you're here," he told his partner with a dismissive eye roll. "And there's no reason they have to. But no doubt you'll do the right thing if I let you go, so until I get my son back, you stick around."

"I know what you're going through."

An unnatural bark of laughter escaped Mahone's lips. "Is it possible for both of you to shut up and not psychoanalyze me, at the same time?"

"The first thing that goes is rationality. Someone you love is in danger, you take the easiest way out."

"I'd hardly call dragging that bastard up here the easiest thing," Mahone said, smirking at Michael. "His stupidity helped, though."

Jack met eyes with Michael again, who sank back against the pipe, looking hopeless.

"They killed your wife, I understand that," Jack murmured. "Years ago, I lost someone like that, too. Maybe it doesn't compare. But I nearly destroyed myself looking for someone to blame, looking for an out. Michael's right. This isn't the way to do things."

"That's touching, Jack," sneered Mahone, standing abruptly and checking the warehouse entrance for signs of activity. "Real heart-warming. Only you could claim to have ever had a family, or know what it's like to have one, and I'd be just as inclined to not believe you."

When Mahone spun back to face them, Michael was gazing at Jack almost amusedly.

"Something funny?"

Michael shifted his glance to Mahone. "He didn't tell you a single thing about himself, did he?"

"It's hard to become pen pals when bribery isn't involved."

"Damnnit, Alex," interjected Jack, twisting the handcuff biting into his wrist. "Can't you tell they're setting you up? There is nothing stopping them from sending a squadron down here to shoot us all. Even if you get away, the bullet wound you already have will bleed you out. You'll be dead, and Cameron will have no-one."

"Do not say his name," Mahone said in a dangerous tone. The corners of his eyes were growing cloudier. He coughed and shook his head to focus.

Jack replied unfeelingly, "What would Cameron think of you now?"

"I've had enough of this," spat Mahone, rounding on him. "I do not … need either of you … conscious … so let's all avoid future head injuries, and shut up. Just … shut up, OK?"

"I don't think this is even about Cameron. You don't care if he lives or dies. You just want to look back on this day and say that you outplayed Michael Scofield. Your pride is all you care about."

"No, no, Jack, you have no clue what you're talking about." Mahone pulled away from his frenetic pacing to accost his partner. "That's enough preaching for today. Don't say I didn't –"

Without warning, Jack bent his arm and sent his elbow crashing into Mahone's injured shoulder. Even as he roared in pain, Mahone brought his other gun-wielding arm around, but Jack was too quick for him again. He brought his hand down and, without hesitating, took a rigid hold of Mahone's fresh bullet wound and twisted.

Mahone had never felt so much pain in his life that he'd wished he could cut off the source of it.

Yelling in spite of himself, he collapsed to his knees and freed his right hand of its weapon to clasp futilely at Jack's iron grip. The agent didn't let go, however, and merely kicked the gun away and shouted at a horrified-looking Michael to get the keys to his cuffs.

Mahone felt everything go even hazier as Michael dug inside his jacket. Before he knew it, the con was freeing Jack, and then they were both standing over him. Jack had retrieved his gun, and had it pointed directly at Mahone's forehead.

Laughter escaped Mahone before he could stop himself.

Michael and Jack stared at him as he brought his throbbing, bleeding arm to his chest and promptly threw up on the concrete floor. As Michael made a disgusted face and stepped back a few paces, Mahone sent a simmering glare up to his partner.

"That kind of hurt, Jack."

"You don't want to go out like this. We can help you."

"Do you maim all your allies before you extend the olive branch? I don't need your help."

Michael glanced urgently from one to the other. "We don't have much time, Jack."

"Kid's right. You won. Now you don't have time to stand around and humiliate me even more."

The con looked down at him with something akin to pity in his eyes.

"We're all in this together, Alex. Even though I don't trust you, even though you have no reason to trust me – doesn't it make sense to work together as well?"

"No. But what does make sense is using your sermonizing, smart-ass mouth to torture me to death. Just get it over with already … or get out of here."

A sudden tinkering of breaking glass and clattering metal echoed throughout the warehouse. All three men looked around to the source of the noise. They realised too late what the canisters rolling towards them were.

The mini-bombs exploded.

White-hot light seared across the area. Moments later, no less than a dozen agents wearing night vision goggles came rappelling into the warehouse from the roof, machine guns firing.

Blinded by the flash bangs, Michael and Jack dived behind a pair of metal containers, Jack retrieving the rest of his weapons in the process. It took him a few seconds to register that Mahone was still sitting dazedly in the middle of the floor, fully exposed to the onslaught before him.

"Damnnit!" he yelled over the roar of the machine guns. He shoved his second sidearm into Michael's hands. "Cover me!"

"I don't know how," the other man stammered, nearly dropping the gun.

"Point and shoot." Jack readied his own weapon and bent in a crouching position. "Now!"

He took off sprinting through a hail of bullets, shooting his pistol all the way until he reached Mahone's slumped figure. Three of their assailants went down as he wrapped an arm around his partner's neck and dragged him back to the containers. Another masked agent intercepted him from the side. Jack hesitated, expecting him to go down, but nothing happened before the agent let off a round at him.

Miraculously unscathed, Jack twisted his gun around to the agent and fired into his chest. The agent went down easily.

He finished pulling Mahone to safety and, after checking that the half-unconscious man was similarly free of any extra bullet holes, grabbed his gun from Michael. He waved it in the con's face.

"You're telling me you've never used one of these things before?" he shouted.

"Only once, in the bank. I can't do it, Jack. I'm sorry."

"They'll let us all go before he ever finds it in himself to kill a man," chuckled Mahone weakly from where he lay on the ground.

Jack exhaled and pressed a finger to his lips as the sound of gunfire died away and the warehouse was taken by silence again. He peered around the containers, briefly scanning the area. The overhead light had been shattered in the melee, and the resulting darkness was impenetrable to his still stinging eyes.

He turned back to Michael and hissed, "Where's the vehicle you arrived in?"

"It's out back."

"There's an exit close by?"

"Yeah."

After another perusal of the area, Jack quickly bit out some instructions to Michael. The con shook his head as a gun was shoved back into his hands.

"What about y-"

"I'll deal with him," Jack cut in. "Go."

Mahone raised a faint head to watch as Michael edged away reluctantly, before running off under Jack's covering fire. He could barely protest as Jack pushed him down again.

"Strain yourself any more and you're gonna die."

"We're all going to die, Jack," he replied, half wheezing as he spoke. "There's no way out. Not for any of us. There never was."

Jack leaned away from the edge of the containers and stooped down until his face was hovering mere inches above Mahone's. After a few seconds of blinking back and forth, Jack drew his arm back and decked him.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Pull it together!" Jack shouted, wrenching Mahone up by the lapels of his jacket and shaking him. "We are out of bullets. We are out of options. I wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you, the least you owe me is not to lose what's left of your damn mind!"

"Well now we're being honest with each other."

"I almost can't believe you. All this time you've had a death wish, it's been right there in your eyes for me to see. Maybe one last favour's in order."

"Then kill me."

Jack tossed Mahone aside and pulled out a gun with each hand as footsteps descended.

Having lured the remaining agents into the net, he shot from both sides as they converged around the containers. At least five went down before they began to yell at each other to pull back.

That was before a grey 4WD burst into the room, headlights at full blast.

The last three Company agents screamed and tore at their night vision goggles as Michael reversed the 4WD. He hit the accelerator again, and managed to mow down two agents before the third began firing on him, forcing him to duck under the steering wheel.

At that moment, Jack grabbed the agent around the head with his good arm, pulled it back to expose his throat, and slashed diagonally with his hunting knife.

The agent dropped. The only sound left was the steady hum of the 4WD's engine.

With an expression that was nothing short of aghast, Michael clambered out of the vehicle and scrutinised the scene. Bodies were littered everywhere.

Taking a deep breath, he strode over to where Mahone had arranged himself in a sitting position. He proffered a hand.

"If you want your son to live, you have to come with us."

"Screw yourself, Michael."

"A thank you will do." The con tore a strip of fabric from a nearby agent's shirt and knotted it tightly around Mahone's arm. "Help me, Jack."

Having cleaned off the blood on his hands, Jack took Mahone's other arm and hauled him to his feet. Despite his protestations, Mahone was dumped on the back seat of the 4WD. Michael climbed in next to him as Jack took the wheel.

They were out of the warehouse and on the road within minutes.

"We have to get him to a hospital."

"Do that and we might as well do ourselves in right now. They have monitoring resources I can't even begin to describe. Within five minutes, they'll probably be tracking us by satellite."

A wave of concern washed over Michael's face as he applied more pressure to Mahone's bleeding arm, eliciting a string of swear words from the agent.

"I thought satellite tracking was in the realm of action thrillers."

"You are unbelievably naïve," Jack replied, peering at the road in the rear-view mirror.

"Maybe," said Michael, as Mahone's head drooped onto his shoulder. "But I know a man who needs help when I see one. He's lost too much blood. His wound is probably infected. He needs a doctor."

"We drop him off at a hospital and he'll most definitely be dead by the end of the day. He has a better chance with us. Other than that, there's nothing you or I can do."

"There's always something."

"Shut up and listen to someone else's advice for once," Mahone groaned. "What are you trying to prove, anyway? Letting me fall off the face of the earth wouldn't make you any less of a … bloody saint."

He shifted his head on Michael's thick jacket, pulling it down with his uninjured arm in order to better comfort his aching head.

"Although," he continued woozily, gazing up into the wide, hazel eyes above him, "I have to hand it to you. Your coat's the best damn pillow I've had in years."

"Jack?" yelped Michael, as Mahone's eyelids lowered halfway.

"Just tell me you'll look after my son. Kick their asses. I just need to sleep. You've been a good friend, Michael. A very good … bellhop. Pumice."

The agent's eyes closed all the way. Michael frantically checked his pulse.

"Jack!" he shouted, laying Mahone down and rolling up his sleeves. "He's dropping!"


	9. Past Lives, Present Disguises

_Chapter 9: Past Lives, Present Disguises_

* * *

Mahone knew the moment his cobwebbed eyes were assaulted by a stream of painful white light that he was in hospital again.

It was the second time in as many weeks he'd ended up in a bed like this. His vision was distorted and his ears were ringing so badly that he couldn't distinguish at all the figures sitting beside him, or what they were saying.

Groaning, he adjusted himself on the crisp linen sheets, before remembering that it was his arm and not his shoulder that was hurt, and shifting back again. He inspected the tubes running over his chest and up to his face, thumbing them with shaking hands.

The room came into better focus. It was small – smaller than his last hospital room, anyway – and cheaply decorated, with grubby windows and an unpleasant stench of linoleum mixed with garden fertiliser.

"About time you woke up."

Blinking rapidly in response to the gruff salutation, Mahone squinted at the pair seated opposite him. He took in their respective irate and relieved faces and sat up, ignoring his screaming muscles.

"Why the hell are you both still here?" he spat, raising his arm to the drip hanging from his nose.

Michael rushed over and caught him before he could pull it out. Mahone jerked backwards by reflex, twisted Michael's arm, and shoved him away.

"Don't touch me, Scofield!"

"We're trying to not get your ass killed," Jack shot out brazenly, getting to his feet as Michael rubbed his arm. "It took a rundown hospital in the middle of Kansas to get you anywhere close to safety. Now you better cut the petty victim act out. You both have your differences – I don't care. Sort them out. When I get back –" he pointed a finger at Michael "– I want a change of attitude from him. Understand?"

"Right," Michael replied, scowling at the sapphire-eyed patient.

Transferring his steely gaze from a sullen Michael to a downright hostile Mahone, Jack threw his coat over his shoulders and swept out of the room, banging the door shut behind him.

The beep of Mahone's heart rate monitor punctuated the otherwise stiflingly quiet air. Mahone picked up a glass of water from his bedside cabinet and took a cautious sip. Michael stared at the ground, rocking back onto his heels.

"How long was I out?" Mahone finally managed.

"Half a day, give or take. We've been here a couple of hours. They've already extracted the bullet."

"Hmm."

"Why do you hate me, Alex?" the con asked suddenly, tilting his head up to him.

Mahone's glass nearly slipped onto the bed. He took a tighter grip, hands tense.

"My son could be dead and you're asking why I'm not begging for your friendship?"

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Any way I try to move past what we've been through and you head me off. It wasn't like this in the beginning, but now … you're taking things too personally. And that really should only be my domain."

"Really," sneered Mahone, leaning back against the headrest.

"Think about what you've done," Michael whispered, stepping further into Mahone's personal space. "All the people you've threatened. Scarred. Killed. People I cared about, people I loved. You've taken so much from me and I'm still able to put it in the past. I can still stand in the same room as you without even thinking about hurting you."

The effect of Michael's hissed words and aggressive stance was no more intimidating than a rabid puppy's, but it startled Mahone nevertheless. He set his glass down, coughing into his hand.

"You think you haven't played a part in where I am now?"

"I didn't ask the Company to ruin your life. Remember what they did to me too, Alex. Remember that."

"You screwed me over just as much, and you know it. You could've kept your mouth shut, but that tape ruined everything."

"It was exposure, or you finally killing me and my brother!"

"Between convicted criminals and my own family, who did you think I'd choose?"

"That's not it." Running a hand through the black stubble on the top of his head, Michael let out a heavy breath. "You called me Shales."

Mahone's jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"

"Back in the car. A couple of seconds before you passed out. You called me Shales. Twice."

Having wound himself up to boiling point, Mahone's sagging body registered the message a long time before his head did. He kneaded his temple with a sweaty palm.

"Leave me alone, Michael."

"No." Michael crossed his arms and sat back down on one of the chairs. "I always guessed that you never asked for my help because a part of you really did want me dead. Now I know why."

"Oh, please …"

"It should've clicked earlier, when I found out what you did to him. But there were so many things about you I didn't understand, that that was the last thing on my mind."

"Nurse!" hollered Mahone, fuming at the seams.

Michael sighed and tugged at the cuffs of his jacket. "Maybe you didn't get enough closure when you shot him and buried him in your backyard. Why you transferred your obsession and your rage and your hatred over to the next fugitive you were assigned doesn't matter. But the fact that I could never be Oscar Shales does. I'm sorry about whatever he did to you. But you know you have to move on. For all our sakes. For Cameron's."

Returning his attention to Michael's adamant face, Mahone shook his head tiredly.

"And what if it's too late for that?"

"Then we'll have no problem leaving you behind."

Both men turned as the door swung ajar, and a pretty nurse with long blonde hair wrapped in a bun entered the room. Michael stood as she gazed disapprovingly at him over a metal clipboard in her arms.

"Mr. Greyback needs to be alone right now, sir," she said, setting the clipboard down at the edge of Mahone's bed. "And you need to lie down."

Mahone muttered inaudibly as she pulled the pair of blankets covering him up to his neck and adjusted the pillows beneath his head.

"Would it be alright if I stayed a while longer?" Michael asked in an edgy voice. "It's just … uh. We're close. He needs my support."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave while I administer something for the pain."

Michael glanced at Mahone, who stared off to the side, avoiding his gaze. He turned back to the nurse with luminous eyes.

"I'd just be sitting in the back," he said imploringly.

The nurse's eyebrows knitted together as she finished writing on the papers she'd brought in. Moving to the door and checking outside, she replied, "Alright, sir. But I can't let you stay overnight."

"Of course." Michael's warm grin turned cold as he intercepted Mahone's line of sight and leaned over him. "Think about what I said."

After a few moments of intense staring, the con straightened up and shunted off to a pair of dust-covered windows in the corner. Mahone swallowed, and then swallowed again as the dryness in his throat became apparent.

"Family problems?"

Mahone arched his neck up to the nurse, who was fiddling with the machines he was hooked in to. "Sorry?"

"I just figured you were brothers, or father and son, or something like that," she said, smiling down at him. Mahone flinched as though her words had physically hurt him, and she flushed. "Oh God, I went there again, didn't I? I'm kind of new at this job … it's none of my business … I'm sorry …"

"No, I don't blame you." He paused. "We're colleagues."

She glanced over at Michael, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "Sorting out whatever's happening between you two could do wonders in helping you recover."

"Maybe."

Mahone's voice died away as a surge of painkillers began to seep through him. He grew instantly relaxed, watching Michael through drooping eyelids. The con was gazing intently at the dirty window in front of him; no doubt, he was picking apart every piece of dust that his low latent inhibition was coming across.

However much Mahone didn't want to admit it, the man was a genius. Despite the fact he was a bastard, and a hypocrite, and a self-serving egotist, Michael was the only man he'd ever met who could decipher people as well as he could. And even if that hadn't been the case – even if Michael had just been an ordinary fugitive like any other – there was no denying that his words still applied.

And still hit home. Regardless of whom he'd been loaded with after the Shales case, closure was something he'd never managed to reach.

"Morphine?" he asked abruptly, peering back at the nurse.

The blonde woman was running a thumb over the dial on his IV drip. "Yep."

"His girlfriend was hooked on this stuff, once." He made a deep, satisfied noise in the back of his throat. "I can really see why."

"Just relax, Mr. Greyback."

"I actually shouldn't be saying that … since I'm a federal agent. But now, not so much."

"Close your eyes, sir. You need to relax. Stop talking. Go to sleep."

Mahone was lulled into submission as the nurse's gentle voice washed over him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Lifting her cool palm off Mahone's burning forehead, the nurse glanced up in surprise as Michael strode over to them. He narrowed his eyes at the beeping machines in front of him.

"This is standard procedure, sir."

"His vitals are spiking. His heart rate's down." He locked onto the IV drip, hazel eyes bright with suspicion. "How much morphine did you give him?"

"Enough to dull the pain," the nurse replied defensively. "And if you don't mind my saying so, Mr. Scofield, I'm more equipped to read these things than you are."

Michael spun back around to face the nurse, jaw setting. "You know who I am."

He didn't wait for a reply as the nurse swept her blonde hair out of her face, looking aggrieved. Pushing his way past her to the door, he continued, "I don't want to hurt you. But me and my friend here are leaving. Please don't call for help."

His hand closed around the doorknob and twisted.

Slowly, painfully, he tried a few more times.

It was locked.

"What have you done?"

"Sorry, Michael."

Were it not for the reflective glass set in the hospital door, Michael would have missed completely the flash of metal curving down behind him. Letting out a small yell, he swivelled away, causing the scalpel to sink into the door's wooden surface.

Stumbling over a chair behind him, he backed up to the side of Mahone's bed as the nurse lifted the metal blade out and took up a fighting stance.

"Who are you?" Michael breathed, edging behind Mahone's bed and checking that the man was still breathing. "The latest Company pawn?"

"How about the Company itself," the nurse replied, switching the blade to her right hand. "Come on, Michael. I've read your profile. You can't take me. You can't hurt me. Go out on a high. Take up some M.O. like Alexander here."

Michael grabbed the bunch of tubes nestled in Mahone's skin and yanked them out one by one.

"You people are out of your minds."

The blonde agent watched as Michael tried to shake Mahone into consciousness, to no avail.

"Alex isn't going to be happy you optioned him for a much more painful death against his will," she chuckled.

"I don't want to fight you."

"And I don't want to kill you. But we all make choices which inevitably lead us to more unsavoury ones."

The agent launched herself forward, knife at chest level.

Charged with adrenaline and powered by fear, Michael acted on pure instinct. Seizing a bunch of curtains hanging nearby, he twisted them around the agent's scalpel-wielding arm and pulled.

She gasped and dropped the blade, sending it skittering across the ground. Clutching her arm, she staggered back a few steps, a malicious grin on her lips.

"Didn't anticipate that from the boy scout," she exclaimed, circling around Michael and keeping her focus on him even as Mahone stirred in the corner of her eye. "But of course, fair fights are hands only. No weapons. Though I can't say I've ever been dying to see what a structural engineer is made of."

She'd barely finished the sentence before Michael descended on her, hands balled into fists as he took the initiative and tried to knock her out.

Raising her forearms and shunting away each swing, she wrenched his right arm behind his back and dug her knee into his spine. He cried out as she proceeded to smash his face onto the top of an empty metal trolley.

"Come on, boy scout," she mocked, holding his cheek against the surface of the trolley and aggravating the bruises already present there. "You're not even trying."

She released him. Sputtering through a blossoming cut on his mouth, Michael lifted himself up unsteadily. His head swam as he tried to make out where the blonde woman had gone.

It took her only seconds to answer that question with a solid fist to his stomach.

He reeled, coughing even harder than before. The agent continued to administer punches and kicks to his midsection, hitting him with such precision that it felt like she was digging into his very chest and extracting his morning breakfast.

Finally, after landing a series of blows to his kneecaps, she brought her elbow down onto the crook of his neck, and he collapsed.

Moaning piteously, Michael rolled onto his back. He was so caught up in trying to distinguish where the pain ended and the real injury started that what little strength he had left wasn't enough to stop the agent's hands wrapping around his throat.

"Take comfort in this, Michael," she said smoothly, covering his mouth with her knee as his attempts to fight her off grew weaker. "When we find your brother in Panama, you'll be saying hello to each other very soon."

His chest began to shudder as his oxygen gave out. After another minute, he was lying motionless, face tinged with blue.

The agent gave a small sigh and leaned back on her haunches, releasing Michael's neck. After waving a hand over his parted lips and growing satisfied that he was dead, she stood, readying herself to dole out the same treatment to Mahone.

Her back turned, it was only the sound of metal scraping against metal that alerted her to the status of her first job.

As she turned, Michael smashed the steel tray he'd picked up from the trolley into the side of her face. She made no noise as she dropped, falling sideways onto the edge of Mahone's bed before sliding almost elegantly to the ground.

He hurried over to her, shielding himself with the tray. Brushing aside her blonde hair and checking her pulse, he surmised that no serious damage had been done. She would be waking up soon, if anything, and then she'd be able and more than willing to break a few more of his ribs.

"Alex," he hissed, discarding the tray and pulling the blankets off the man's languid body. "Alex. You have to get up."

Mahone made a faint gargling noise as Michael heaved him into a sitting position. He turned his head to face Michael for a brief moment, smiled, and then passed out again.

"Alex! We have to go!"

The door crashed open with a loud bang. Michael pulled out the scalpel from his jacket pocket, half terrified, until he saw that it was Jack on the other end of the gun pointed straight at him.

Jack eyed the freshly beaten up con in front of him, the drugged up federal agent lying slack beside him, and the insentient nurse sprawled out on the ground nearby. He lowered his weapon.

"What the hell did you do?" he growled.

Michael stretched Mahone back out on the bed and hurried over to some shelves hanging from the top of the wall. He dug through them hastily.

"She's Company," he explained, as Jack stepped up to Mahone's prone figure, looking from him to the blonde agent. "They're not going to stop until we're all dead."

"So we gotta move."

"We're not going to get past security dragging an unconscious man between us," Michael insisted, removing the cover from a syringe and rolling Mahone's shirt up. "Least of all from the building."

"What are you doing?"

Jack watched with mild concern as Michael punched the syringe through the cap of a bottle he'd taken from the cabinet, and filled it at least a fifth of the way.

"Epinephrine," the con said, swabbing a bare spot on Mahone's chest with antiseptic. "Hold him down, Jack."

Jack was about to protest, until he realised they had no other options other than leaving Mahone behind. Holstering his gun, he placed a hand on both of Mahone's shoulders, securing him. He nodded at Michael.

Michael raised the needle with a steady hand. He was about to plunge it down, until he hesitated, jerking his head back up to Jack.

"They'll already have tagged our vehicle."

Jack gave an exasperated sigh and grabbed the syringe from Michael.

"What do you think I've been doing in the parking garage for the last 10 minutes?"

He stabbed the needle through Mahone's chest.

Almost immediately, Mahone's eyes snapped open. His face contorted into a picture of pain as surge after surge of adrenaline hit his bloodstream. His back arched until his spine cracked, and his entire body began to spasm.

Michael panicked. "Restrict his movements or he'll break something!"

"You better have some damn good evidence for me when we get to Chicago," Jack yelled, as Mahone's left hand slapped him underneath the jaw. "And I know how epinephrine works!"

After a couple more minutes of grunting from Michael and Jack, and all round swearing from Mahone, the latter sank back onto the bed.

The combined effect of the morphine and the adrenaline surging through Mahone made him shiver uncontrollably. Feeling as though every breath was a marathon, he struggled to sit up. In the process, he caught Jack frisking the blonde woman and handcuffing her wrist to the end of the hospital bed.

"Are we going that far already?" he groaned in disbelief.

"She's Company," Michael said for the second time, cleaning his hands up. "And you just slept through her trying to kill us."

Mahone blinked, registering for the first time the raw cuts and bruises which had sprouted on the con's face and, evidently if not visibly, his body.

"Well," he murmured, "on your part, I am sorry I missed helping her out with that."

He looked regretful for an entirely different reason, however. His head beginning to clear, he pushed himself off the bed, dismissing Michael's extended hand at the same time.

"Time to go," said Jack, stepping away from the blonde agent. He stowed an ID card with the woman's picture on it into a back pocket of his jeans. "There's no telling if she was working alone."

"She's still … alive, isn't she?"

Jack gave Michael a condescending look that projected the obvious answer.

"Let's go," Michael went on sheepishly.

The three men made their way to the door, struggling privately with their own respective injuries. As Michael opened it, a derisive voice abruptly rang out.

"Small world, Jack. I thought you were still overseas."

They turned back around. The blonde woman was awake, glowering at Jack from the floor with narrowed, citrine eyes. She clutched the side of the bed as she pulled herself up.

"Jack, come on, she's delaying us," Mahone said, as his partner returned her glare and slowly stalked over.

"In the parking garage," Jack replied non sequitur, keeping his eyes on the woman. "There's a green sedan with brown plating on the doors. It's already unlocked and hotwired. Take it and meet me out front."

"I'm not leaving you alone with her."

"I'll do it," said Michael, mirroring Mahone and catching the murder in Jack's eyes. He cast a nervous look from Jack to the blonde agent, before slinking out of the room.

An arrogant smirk plastered itself on the woman's delicate face as Jack stopped in front of her, his expression impassive. He glanced back at Mahone, who refused to budge. Grimacing, he returned his attention to her.

"How did you know my name?" he asked calmly, rolling his sleeves up.

"You don't remember me," she sneered, hiding any fearful reaction to his rising anger. "The Chinese must've worked you over good."

Jack managed to flinch only with a twitch of his cheek. He didn't reply, choosing instead to analyse the agent with hollow eyes.

"My employers will be interested to hear that you're helping these guys," the blonde continued. "Interested enough to bring Kim and Audrey into the fold. Or maybe just Audrey, since your daughter couldn't have cared less that you disappeared for two years …"

Her voice was cut off as Jack suddenly swooped down and grabbed her in a chokehold. Mahone yelled as his partner withdrew the hunting knife from his jacket and pressed the blade under her left eye.

"Don't, Jack!"

"Who are you taking orders from?" Jack roared, drowning out Mahone's voice. "Where are they based? Why did they turn me over to the Chinese?"

"That's right, Jack, take out my eye," the woman spat through gritted teeth. "Start cutting me until I talk. That's all you're ever good for."

"Don't think I won't …"

There was a sick crunching noise as two fists connected with Jack's livid face. He could barely react in time before the same pair of hands latched onto his shoulders and threw him off the blonde agent.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" Mahone shouted, placing his body between Jack and the woman to ensure that the former couldn't pounce on her again. "Even with pretext, we don't do things like that out in the field!"

Breathing heavily, Jack looked all the world like he was contemplating shooting Mahone then and there. After a few seconds, he slumped his shoulders, seeming to come to his senses. He ran a hand over his mouth.

"I haven't been a field agent in a long time," he said quietly.

Mahone watched him turn and leave, half disgusted and half confused. He quickly gathered his things from the bedside cabinet and made to follow when the blonde agent spoke again.

"There's nowhere to run, Alex."

He hesitated at the door. "Is that right?"

"Wherever you hide, I'll still track you down," she continued lightly, rubbing her throat. "Help me bring them in. Turn them over, and I'll make sure you get your son back."

Mahone gazed at her with solicitous, then bitter, eyes, before exiting without another word.

The green sedan was parked out front to the side, with Michael at the wheel and Jack waiting impatiently in the back. Mahone hurriedly climbed into the passenger seat, and they were out and on the road again within minutes.

"What the hell happened back there?" Mahone asked, tucking the bottle of midazolam pills further inside his jacket. "How do you know her?"

"Did it sound like I knew who she was?" snapped Jack in reply.

"The Company's put her in charge of hunting us down. If there's anything you know about her, then you need to start sharing."

"I don't know who she is." Jack's face was the epitome of turmoil as he gazed at the woman's fake ID with wavering eyes. "But I remember her. From somewhere, I just can't place it. She could be a valuable source of information."

Mahone turned around in his seat to face Jack. "Anything she says will be useless to us if she takes us all out in the process."

"She's a threat, I understand that." Jack gingerly felt where Mahone had struck him in the face. "Make no mistake, if it comes down to it, I will kill her myself if I have to."

None of the men spoke another word for the rest of the drive to Chicago.

* * *

"Oh my God."

Slender hands covered a narrow, attractive face that was somewhat familiar to Mahone as he stepped back from the doorbell. The woman was peering out at them through the security mesh door with large, speechless eyes.

It took an uncomfortable cough from Jack to tear her gaze away from his roughed up companions.

"Right. Come in, come in."

She unlocked the security door and swung it open. Michael entered the house immediately, eyes alert and searching. Mahone followed with a calculated look between Jack and the woman.

"Jack, that's Alexander Mahone," she whispered, as though he couldn't hear. "He's wanted in seven states."

Mahone smirked as Jack hastily began to explain everything that had happened since they'd last talked. Entering the lounge room, he found Michael wrapping a fierce hug around Sara. The doctor was returning it with a relieved smile.

She caught Mahone's entrance and let go of Michael, backing up a few steps.

"You," she said simply.

"It's OK, Sara," said Michael, uncrossing her arms and sliding his own around her shoulders. "He's on our side now."

"Yeah," Mahone chortled, falling exhausted onto an armchair. "And trying to kill you in that hotel room was just a ruse."

Michael's face froze. "What?"

"Alex, Michael, this is Audrey Raines," said Jack, arriving in the lounge room before Mahone could glean any real pleasure from Michael's reaction. "She thinks she knows a way to get to the right people in D.C. undetected."

"Even the daughter of the President of the United States can't guarantee a safe trip down there," Sara said, looking concerned.

Mahone chuckled again. "Heller's daughter. Now I've heard it all."

"It's our only chance at getting Alex's son back," Jack argued, sharing a glance with Audrey. "And getting our lives back. Now I seem to recall Michael telling me that he'd give me evidence in exchange for you. I will not be pleased if I've been short-changed."

Michael raised his eyebrows, as though it was only just occurring to him. Fishing inside his bulky jacket, he produced a silver-blue cell phone. Switching it on, he tossed it over to Jack.

"That belonged to the Secret Service agent who shot Alex and helped me and Linc escape," Michael said, as Jack held the phone up for inspection. "On it are the contact details of several high-ranking government employees, including a man named Bill Kim. They're all part of the conspiracy."

Jack scrolled through the address book before shutting the phone. "This could be useful."

"I'm as good as my word." Michael shifted on his feet, digging his hands into his pockets. "I need to call my brother. Warn him that the Company knows where he is."

"You can use the phone in my cousin's room," conceded Audrey, pointing across the hall. "Third door from the right."

"Thank you."

Michael gave a small smile and left. Sara coughed nervously, before saying, "I need to … ah, help him."

She spun and followed Michael out, leaving Jack, Audrey and Mahone behind.

Mahone leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling as the other two conversed with each other about Audrey's father. After a few minutes, he saw in the corner of his eye Jack brushing his lips over Audrey's cheek. His partner excused himself to go to the bathroom.

A lump formed in Mahone's throat. He couldn't entertain the thought of surviving without Pam, and now he had his reason. His head pounded and he felt nauseous.

"Are you hungry, Mr. Mahone?"

Mahone lowered his gaze to see that Audrey was still standing just inside the lounge entrance. He concealed his shaking hands inside his coat and tried to smile.

"A glass of water would be nice, thanks."

She nodded and moved into the kitchen. At the sound of running tap water, he wrenched the bottle of midazolam from his pocket and unscrewed two pills onto a trembling palm.

When he tilted his head back to swallow them, however, Audrey was standing in front of him again. The clear glass of water in her hand matched the blank expression on her face.

"Drugs'll kill you," she remarked, setting the glass down on the coffee table between them and sitting opposite him.

"They're the only things that have kept me going up to this point," he rebutted, keeping the pills in his closed fist even though he desperately needed to ingest them. "But I can't expect the President's saintly daughter to understand."

Up close, the dark circles and heavy lines indicative of many sleepless nights were much more apparent on Audrey's face. They creased now as she ran a weary hand over them.

"A few weeks before I met Jack – four, five years ago – he was addicted to heroin. One day he decided to quit, go cold turkey. I helped him through that period of his life." She held out a hand, eyes insistent. "What I'm saying is that it's possible to go without."

"Well aren't you all a bunch of evangelists." Mahone shoved the pills back into their bottle, and re-hid the package without handing it over. "I don't need to put up with a detox attempt while I'm trying to keep me and my son alive."

Audrey sat back on the couch, inclining her head sadly. Feeling disgusted and ashamed at himself, Mahone tried to find another subject of conversation. He soon gave up.

"How long have you known Jack?" asked Audrey, doing Mahone's work for him.

He did the math in his head. "Four days."

"You must know by now that he hasn't been in a good place for the last couple of years."

"I'm starting to suspect that, yes," Mahone replied, recalling the blonde assassin's taunting words.

Audrey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, checking that Jack hadn't returned to the room with an equally fluid turn of her head.

Finally, she said, "He's not at his full strength, Mr. Mahone. Mentally or physically. One slip-up while he tries to bring down the Company, and it's over."

"You want me to look out for him," surmised Mahone.

"I want you to stop him from doing anything stupid," she corrected, leaning forward determinedly. "He has a way of dealing with things that aren't so good for him."

The doorbell suddenly rang.

Mahone and Audrey tensed in an instant. He stood and drew his gun as she made a frantic move to fetch Jack from the bathroom. Stopping her, he placed the pistol into her hands and signalled her attention to the door.

"If you take too long to answer that, whoever's on the other side will know something's up and we'll draw only more attention to ourselves," he hissed. "We can't afford that. Make them go away. Shoot them if you're forced to."

Her doe eyes were bright with unease.

"Can you do that?" he asked urgently.

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. Mahone positioned himself around the corner as she strode down the front corridor with the gun behind her back.

Michael and Sara entered the lounge room having heard the doorbell as well. He waved at them to take cover, and they ducked behind the couch.

"I didn't expect you back until Friday," he heard Audrey exclaim. She sounded pleased even as her voice retained a nervous edge.

An inaudible male voice replied.

"I … well, of course you can come in."

Mahone and Michael shared an incredulous glance at the sound of the door opening and a heavy suitcase being dumped on the ground.

"Maybe you should wipe your shoes down while I take the luggage to your room," Audrey said helplessly.

"You're my guest, Auds, not my bellhop."

Mahone couldn't believe his ears. He looked back over to Michael and Sara, and judging from their dumbfounded faces, they recognised the voice just as well as he did.

There was no way …

A loud crash coerced Mahone out of his brief reverie. He peeled away from his hiding spot and ran into the front hall in time to see Jack sweeping in from a room to the right, gun raised.

"Hands above your head!" Jack yelled, getting well within firing distance of the man. "Don't move. Audrey, close the door."

"Jack, it's alright, he's my cousin," protested Audrey, shielding the newcomer. "Drop the weapon for god's sake."

The man smirked as he looked across from Jack to see three of the most wanted fugitives in the country pile into his front hall and promptly halt in their tracks as they laid eyes on him.

"OK," Audrey breathed, closing the door as Jack lowered his gun and holstered it. "Everyone. This is my cousin – he owns this place, but he won't be a problem."

The room deflated as she turned to her cousin. "I can explain everything."

"Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary, Auds."

Audrey looked bemused, until she followed her cousin's line of sight and finally registered the expressions of pure murder being directed at the man behind her.

"Jack?"

She glanced over to him for support. Mahone could make out, however, growing recognition followed by chilling anger forming on his partner's face.

"Paul Kellerman," muttered Jack.

"Yeah." Audrey's frown deepened. "But … I never mentioned him to you …"

"Because I've met him before," Jack growled.

He pulled his gun out again.

"The son of a bitch tried to kill me."


	10. Forfeit, Farewell

_Chapter 10: Forfeit / Farewell_

* * *

She was so beautiful. She was so broken.

Turning back to Audrey after the con and the doctor had left the room, Jack garnered his first real look at one of the few things that had kept him going for the last two years. He wasn't able to stop the distressed thud in his chest as he registered the taint of prolonged despair on her gaunt face.

Her green eyes were shining, with imminent tears or present happiness he wasn't sure. All he knew was that Audrey deserved everything he could give her, and right now, the only tangible thing he had to offer was physical, and intimate.

But one stare between them, and the pain he saw in the woman he loved forced him to turn away.

Mahone had his head reclined on the armchair he was sitting in, eyes closed. Watching the man for a moment, Jack recognised with unsettling familiarity the still raw shock and horror etched into his partner's exhausted and unguarded face.

"Maybe you should rest up, too."

Jack let out sharp hiss as he felt Audrey's hand on his shoulder. Flinching away as he spun back around, he caught her drawing her hand back to her chest, frightened.

"I'm sorry."

"No."

He stopped kneading the shoulder that had been dislocated under Cheng Zhi's orders so many times, and allowed his heart to sink. He knew Audrey had submitted to crushing guilt a long time ago. The way she was looking at him now, he also knew that that wasn't likely to go away any time soon.

Taking her hands in his, he murmured, "Please don't tell me you're sorry, ever again."

"I should've done more. Gotten help from Dad."

"There was nothing the President could've done, either."

"Jack …"

He didn't need a reason or a definition for what compelled him to step forward suddenly and kiss her on the cheek.

Audrey's face was scarlet as he pulled back. Despite that, and her coherent silence, the glimmer in her eyes signalled the hope he'd been searching for – hope that eventually, no matter how long it took, they could be together the way he'd dreamt for three years.

"Is there someplace I could wash up?" he asked, trying to ease the tension.

She blinked, snapping herself out of what looked like a disbelieving dream state, before nodding.

"Bathroom's last door on the left."

"Thanks."

He stared at her for a few moments, but soon realised what he was doing and lowered his gaze. Burying the words he desperately wanted to say, he gave a small nod and left for the bathroom.

Splashing water from the tap onto his face did nothing to refresh him, but it soothed nevertheless. Drying himself with a towel, he inspected his reflection for the first time since he'd shaved himself clean four days earlier.

He sighed.

The mirror he'd been provided with then had been cracked and dusted. This one was clean and unblemished, and projected the truth. Though his face bore far fewer scars than the rest of his body did, there was still a blatant suffering there that ran much deeper.

He'd had no idea he'd been carrying his burden around for the whole world to see.

Tracing the lines on his face with a pockmarked hand, he reined back his emotions and set his expression into one of cold steel. There were three other people in the building he still had to deal with. None could be less trustworthy if they tried, and none could be allowed to so easily discern his weaknesses if he wanted to maintain control of the situation.

Clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders, he set the towel down and exited the bathroom.

The doorbell rang.

Snapping his head around to peer down the hallway, his immediate concern was for Audrey as he grasped for his gun. He quickly surmised, however, that the doorway in front of him led through to the front hall. He opened it and eased inside what seemed to be a sitting room.

Footsteps echoed from a few metres away. Backing against the wall on the other side of the front door, he waited tensely.

"Hey."

It was Audrey.

"I didn't expect you back until Friday."

"Suppliers were choked up, there was an accounting error, so the sale went through," a male voice replied. "Bad, but good in the sense of a week off."

There was a brief, stilted silence, before the man continued, "Care to let me in?"

Jack furrowed his brow and rubbed his temple at the vaguely familiar voice.

"I …" Audrey hedged on her words. "Well … of course you can come in."

There was barely palpable distress in her voice. Carefully checking the chamber of his gun, Jack positioned himself against the front hall's adjoining door as Audrey tried to stall the man, to no avail.

He kicked the door open.

"Hands above your head!" he shouted, side-stepping into the front hall with his gun held steady on the man. "Don't move. Audrey, close the door."

"Jack, it's alright, he's my cousin," Audrey exclaimed, raising her hands and shielding the man behind her. "Drop the weapon for god's sake."

Regarding the stranger with dubious eyes, Jack was overcome by an intense feeling of familiarity.

He felt his slightly convulsing hands holster his gun as Michael, Sara and Mahone arrived in the front hall. Their faces mirrored his own stunned recognition of the new arrival as Audrey made to introduce him.

It didn't take her long to decipher the primal, hateful glares all being trained on her cousin.

"Jack?" she said in a small voice, turning back to him.

But Jack had finally reached deep enough inside his memory to put a name to the smirking face.

"Paul Kellerman," he growled.

"Yeah." Audrey shook her head. "But … I never mentioned him to you …"

"Because I've met him before. The son of a bitch tried to kill me."

She dropped the gun in her hands and blocked Jack's as he pulled it out again and aimed it squarely between Kellerman's eyes.

"What are you talking about? Paul, tell him …"

"He knows exactly what I'm talking about," Jack yelled, stabbing his weapon at her cousin. "I know him. He had orders to terminate me. He is not the man you think he is!"

* * *

_Two years ago – Chicago, Illinois_

* * *

"Thank you."

Jack felt a small lump constrict his throat as Chloe O'Brian nodded and smiled as brightly as she could. Entering her blue rental car, she gave him one last glance, before driving off.

He wiped his bleary eyes as he took out two cell phones from his shoulder bag. Crushing them between his hands, he dropped them into a nearby dumpster.

Inner calm hadn't been an option ever since he'd received the call from Chloe almost 18 hours ago begging him to meet her. Now that she'd told him the cover he'd had for less than a month had been compromised, sleep was something else he could rule out for at least the next week.

Digging his hands into the pockets of his hooded jacket, he walked slowly back to his car.

The loud thrum of an engine made him pivot his head to the side. He watched as a motorcycle pulled ahead of him on the abandoned backroad. It stopped a short distance away.

He threw his bag onto the passenger seat, climbed in, and started the engine, all the while keeping his eyes on the leather-clad biker. They stared at each other for a long time as the motorcycle engine revved menacingly.

A black BMW suddenly tore around the corner, tires screaming. It headed straight for Jack. He pulled the car into reverse without hesitation. Swerving around in a 180 spin and narrowly avoiding a collision with the car, he hit the accelerator, speeding off towards the nearest cluster of traffic he could get to.

Though Jack pulled out everything he had, ducking in and out of vehicles in his attempt to escape, his pursuers maintained their lead on him for at least five minutes before he spotted a forklift rolling into a junkyard.

He made a sharp turn and entered the area. The engine whine and sound of braking tires behind him signalled that they'd taken the bait.

"I got you now," he muttered into his rear-view mirror.

Wrenching the steering wheel around, he took a hard right, narrowly avoiding another forklift standing to the side.

He came to a stop a few metres away, just before the BMW gyrated around the corner. It lost control on the dirt ground and impaled itself on the forklift's sharp blades.

Lowering himself beneath the windshield, Jack picked up his bag and crawled out the passenger door.

He heard a man wheezing in the distance, followed by a car door being thrown open. Still crouched out of sight, he tugged his bag strap over his head and manoeuvred behind a stack of wooden platforms.

"Paul?"

Jack squinted through the small openings between the platforms. Freeing a pistol from his bag and loading it with a fresh cartridge, he studied a runty-figured man as he spilled out of the BMW.

The man repeated the name as he peered through the tinted windshield.

"You alright, man?"

A groan came from the driver's side in reply.

Jack dashed forward and halted as close as possible to the BMW without giving himself away. He watched a tall figure emerge from the passenger door with his hand clutching a bloody area just below his jaw.

"If you hadn't spotted it in time, it might've done more than nick my neck, Danny."

The smaller man gave an amused grunt as his partner removed his shades and scrupulously checked his wound. Jack could tell from the man's cold green eyes that he was the far more dangerous of the pair.

"Got a lot more to worry about than cuts and bruises," the man continued, nodding at Jack's car.

Jack shadowed them closely as they made their way over to inspect it. The injured driver's cell rang, and he picked up, looking irritated.

"Agent Kellerman."

Kellerman turned his back to listen to the caller's response as his partner dug through Jack's vehicle for anything left behind.

"My status? My status is he's gone, Rachel. And if you'd secured the CTU analyst when I told you to, he would've stuck around long enough for me and Hale to do our jobs."

Jack readied his gun and mentally calculated the movements he would have to take as Kellerman continued with what he'd already figured out.

"There's only one exit out of this place. So if Bauer wants to leave, he'll have to show himself first."

It took Jack only five rapid steps forward before he was behind Hale and blocking his mouth in a forearm chokehold. Hale managed to emit a loud enough grunt to grab Kellerman's attention, though, and the other man rotated with his phone still pressed to his ear.

Jack's weapon was already on him. Scowling through the long curtains of hair framing his face, he mutely exhorted Kellerman to hang up.

Kellerman registered no emotion at his partner's predicament. Nevertheless, he wisely chose not to move for his gun, instead continuing to drawl into his cell as though nothing was happening.

"Rachel. Unless you want there to be more hell to pay, I suggest we end this call now."

He rolled his eyes and hung up. The resulting silence was nothing less than strained.

Without being prompted, Kellerman very slowly reached into his jacket and withdrew a silenced pistol. Making a small gesture of surrender, he lowered the weapon onto the ground and promptly kicked it over to Jack.

Jack let his eyes waver for only a moment before he returned his glare to Kellerman.

"Secondary weapons as well."

"Do you really think I'm gonna fake you out and have you blow his head off? That's all I have on me."

Weighing up the legitimacy of Kellerman's claim, Jack transferred the aim of his gun to Hale's thick neck and frisked the agent's jacket with his other hand. He produced a wallet with a badge and ID inside.

"Secret Service Agent Daniel Hale," he read out, before tossing the wallet at Kellerman's feet. "You working under the same people from Logan's administration who tried to have me killed a year ago?"

"It was never about killing you, Jack," replied Kellerman, smoothly manipulating the question. "The only thing we're trying to do here is uphold national security."

Jack jammed the gun further into Hale's throat. "Are you brainwashed or just stupid?"

"You fall into the wrong hands, you pose a threat your own CTU colleagues wouldn't hesitate to take out." Kellerman gave a nonchalant shrug. "Shame the ones you were ever acquainted with either quit or died."

"Shut up."

Head pounding, Jack finished disarming Hale and shoved him towards Kellerman.

"Hands behind your heads. Down on your knees. Now. Both of you."

"Going to shoot us in cold blood?" Kellerman asked, as he and Hale complied.

Jack marched forward enough to effectively communicate his next order.

"Call your superior back and tell her you've cornered me on Third Street," he said, waving at the cell Kellerman had dropped.

Kellerman scoffed with a slight curl of his lips, but relented when Jack moved his gun to Hale's head again.

By the time he ended the call, Kellerman's face was beginning to show signs of a temper.

"Now what?"

"Now you stand and walk in that direction until you reach the fence," Jack replied, wrenching the cell from Kellerman's grip and backing up towards his car. "Keep your hands on it until I'm gone, or this really will get unpleasant."

Hale quickly made his way towards the end of the junkyard. Kellerman, however, approached Jack much more slowly, eyeing him with an inscrutable expression as he passed.

"Take a minute to think about the people who helped fake your death, Jack," he said blithely. "Think about your daughter. If you turn yourself over now, you can guarantee they won't be touched."

Jack ignored him even as a twinge of discontent permeated his chest.

Again throwing his bag into his car and re-entering it, Jack surveyed in the rear-view mirror as Kellerman joined his partner. The Secret Service agent muttered something to Hale as he placed his hands on the fence.

Wasting no more time, Jack gunned the engine and peeled out of the junkyard. He repeated Kellerman's last words to himself in his head as he tried to figure out his next move.

He knew that as well as Chloe, Michelle and Tony were also still based in L.A.

And Kim was currently living in Valencia.

His carelessness had put them at even greater risk. He couldn't fathom leaving the country with the danger he'd placed them in hanging over his head. If anything, he needed to be as close as possible to them in order to protect them as best he could.

And returning … it would be the last place they'd expect to find him.

There was nowhere else to go except back to California.

* * *

"Please, Jack. What you're saying is impossible. All of it is impossible. Paul isn't … he sells imported beef jerky."

Easing his gun down, Jack stared at Audrey uncomprehendingly as a weary chuckle sounded behind him.

"Beef jerky salesman. Weren't even trying with that alias, were you, Kellerman?"

"Alex."

Kellerman emitted the name almost jovially. Rolling his eyes at Jack, he stepped over to a set of hooks lined up below the staircase and threw his coat onto one.

"I heard about your wife. Need recommendations for a quality therapist once Cameron leaves hospital?"

Mahone's face transitioned from weary mirth to murderous rage in one flicker of an eye. Mouth curled into a searing snarl, he leapt forward. Michael was able to catch him in both hands, however, and hold him back.

Eyes wide with disbelief, Audrey appealed to her cousin, who refused to return her gaze.

"You know them?"

"He shot me," said Mahone.

"Electrocuted me in a bathtub."

"Tried to suffocate my brother after sending him to the chair."

"OK, enough."

Audrey curled a hand against her throat, as though holding herself back from saying something extremely repugnant.

Kellerman looked devastated as she shook her head at him. He followed her as she backed away into the sitting room.

"Auds."

"Stay away from me."

"Listen, Audrey, I lied for a reason …"

"I'm sure Dad'll love to hear it!"

As Audrey's decibel level grew, Jack lowered his head and quietly shut the door behind them. When he turned back around, Mahone had vanished, and Michael and Sara were regarding each other with nervous indecision.

Sara was the first to speak as she met eyes with Jack.

"What happens now?"

"Something I should have told you before," said Michael, speaking up before Jack could spell out their arrangement. "I wasn't just planning on handing over evidence today."

She blinked as Michael stepped towards Jack, his hands held together in front of him.

"You can't go back to prison," she said blankly.

"It's not a choice, it's an imperative," the con replied, shutting his eyes as Sara came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You're not obligated to do anything, Michael. And it's still too dangerous."

"I can't keep running and putting your life at risk."

"She's right."

The morose pair returned their attention to Jack. To their surprise, he produced the keys to the stolen green sedan parked outside and held them out to Michael.

Hazel eyes tight with bemusement, Michael took them.

"I didn't ask for this."

"Right now, whether or not you deserve to be in prison doesn't matter," Jack said, choosing not to proffer a weapon knowing Michael would refuse it. "If you go back to prison now, the Company'll most likely have you dead within a week."

"You're just going to let us walk?"

"No."

Jack stepped over to the front door, opening it. He gestured towards the sitting room, from which Audrey was still prominently verbalizing her anger at her cousin.

"Ms. Raines knows several locations in the country you can stay until this is all over. They contain supplies that'll last you weeks. She'll stay with you while I handle the Company in D.C."

"What about …"

"I'll deal with Mahone," Jack cut in testily. He rubbed his jaw. "And Kellerman."

He moved aside as the other two made their way out to the driveway. Michael hesitated on top of the front porch steps.

"One more thing," he said to Sara, smiling wanly as she waited for him. "You go ahead."

The doctor gazed from Michael to Jack, looking put out. However, she eventually nodded and headed for the car.

Michael folded and unfolded his arms as Jack heard the shouts echoing out from the sitting room die down.

"Make it quick."

"Earlier I mentioned an agent named Bill Kim," the fugitive began, sweeping a hand over his bruised face. "I had a … uh … an encounter with him, a while back. It was pretty obvious at the time he was close to the top of the Company food chain. If there's anyone from Kellerman's address book you want to get to first, it's him."

"You know where he works out of?"

"Looked him up myself. Room 1006, Gossamer Building, 16th Street, Washington D.C." Michael shifted on his feet. "I want him to pay, Jack. For everything."

"I'll do the best I can. You just stay alive long enough to testify against him."

"Okay." Michael raised a hand for Jack to shake. "Good luck."

Jack stared at the outstretched arm before him.

"Audrey'll be with you soon," he muttered.

Michael surmised that his gesture was probably the first courteous thing Jack had received in 18 months and dropped it. Making an ashamed noise in the back of his throat, he spun and went down to Sara by the car.

By the time Jack braced himself to join Audrey and Kellerman in the sitting room, it had grown even quieter. Audrey had her head in her hands on one end of the couch, while Kellerman was positioned on the other end, murmuring to her in a subdued tone.

"I was protecting you, Auds," he was saying. "The Company brokered a deal with the Chinese. They were going to pass on your location in exchange for the specs of a new security technology they were developing."

"I really don't follow."

Kellerman sighed and gazed into the distance, looking almost hurt. He caught Jack's presence at the same time.

"Once they knew where you were, they were going to fake your death. Try to understand. They were going to hold you prisoner, torture you, maybe even condition you, so they could use you –" he directed a finger at Jack "– as leverage against him. I had to get you out of there as soon as I could."

Jack remained silent, trying to hide his rage at the lengths Cheng had been willing to go. Audrey blinked up at him for a moment, before glancing down at her clasped hands.

"I've been back for months. You could've said anything then."

"And encourage you to go back on a suicide mission and expose what I'd done at the same time? We both would've been killed. Don't say that if I'd told the truth, you would've stayed away for all our own sakes."

"Does Kristine know?"

Kellerman winced involuntarily. Narrowing his eyes and carefully considering his answer, he gently replied, "Of course not."

"Audrey."

They both observed Jack again as he came closer and stood over the couch. Kellerman glowered.

"Do you mind? We're still talking."

Jack returned the glare with equal fervour, deriding Kellerman as well as he could without punching him.

"I do mind, actually."

"Hey."

Audrey's snapped remark silenced them both. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she stood and edged past her cousin.

"Are they outside, Jack?" she asked, voice pinched.

"Yeah."

Jack walked her out to the driveway. Kellerman followed close behind, an injured expression on his face.

Sara was already sitting in the back seat of the car, chatting with Michael through the open window.

"Audrey, I can't thank you enough for doing this," Jack murmured, as Michael caught their approach and opened the driver door.

"We haven't regressed to the point where you need to," she replied, taking his hand in her cold ones. "I love you."

Kissing his palm, she smiled sadly before climbing into the driver's seat. Michael made his way to the other side of the car, but halted when Kellerman clamped a hand on his arm and directed a nod at Audrey.

"If anything happens to my cousin under your watch …"

"You'll do what?" sneered the con, pushing Kellerman off him. "In case you've forgotten, we're even now. I don't owe you a thing."

"So keep it that way, Scofield."

Kellerman backed up reluctantly as Audrey started the car. Waiting for Michael to enter on the other side, she finally glanced at her cousin.

"Whatever happens, Paul, make sure the Company's kept away from the President." She licked her lips. "If they haven't gotten to him already thanks to you."

"I swear I will help right this," Kellerman replied, his face twisting into an expression of awkward earnestness.

Audrey sighed bitterly. "I'll make contact once we're out of the state."

The car reversed down the driveway, leaving behind a deeply sombre Jack. He raised a hand in goodbye as Audrey directed a final look at him. Communicating everything they'd left unsaid with her eyes, she broke the gaze and drove the car out of sight.

Jack only snapped back to reality when Kellerman uttered his name. He tore his gaze from the street, and headed back for the house without so much as sending a fist to the other man's face.

"So what's done is done, right, Jack?" continued Kellerman, as they re-entered the front hall. "I want Audrey safe and the Company dissipated just as badly as you do, and I have considerable benefits to offer in achieving that."

"All you have to offer is incompetence, betrayal, or both mixed with spontaneity that'll get us killed."

"Right. I've been in this line of work as long as you have, but of course, you have to make things harder for yourself …"

Jack signalled at him to stop talking as they made their way into the lounge. Trailing off, Kellerman inclined his head questioningly.

"He's gone," Jack hissed. Raising his voice, he called out, "Alex?"

There was no reply.

"Guy's probably tossed in his last straw and bailed," remarked Kellerman, not bothering to keep his voice down.

"I don't care what it looks like. Check upstairs."

Kellerman gave a theatrical sigh, but gave in under the unrelenting glare being directed at him.

As the other man traipsed up the stairs, Jack opened the sliding door to the kitchen and entered it, cautiously covering his bases.

"Alex?"

The room was just as empty as the lounge. Running a hand down his face, he spotted something on the floor, and bent and picked up an empty plastic capsule lying on its side. His brow creased as he read the label plastered over it.

"Up and against the wall."

Jack whirled around. Mahone was standing in the kitchen doorway, the gun Audrey had dropped back in his hands. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot – he looked seconds away from either a breakdown or renal failure.

"What are you doing, Alex?"

"Hands on top of your hand and up against the wall!" Mahone barked, ignoring the question completely and wiping a palm over his sweaty forehead.

Jack complied. He gritted his teeth as Mahone darted forward and frisked his pockets, removing his gun and hunting knife.

"That's the second time I've gotten the jump on you in two days, right? And I … thought I was the one losing my edge."

The FBI agent finished searching Jack and stepped back. Jack turned away from the wall with his hands still up.

"What are you doing, Alex?" he repeated slowly.

"Do you have any idea what I … what I gave up to get anywhere close to that son of a bitch again? And you just let him go. Just like that."

"Tell me you didn't take that entire bottle of midazolam."

"They're tranquilisers, moron, and I'd be dead already," Mahone snapped, emitting a harsh laugh even as he struggled to keep his eyes focused. "No. They don't give me the help I need anymore. I flushed them down the sink."

"Then what's all this?" Jack asked, indicating his partner's weapon on him. "You want tips on how to detox without getting your son killed?"

"Cameron's already dead."

Jack's mouth fell slack.

"What?"

"The agent holding him phoned in from Colorado." Mahone let out a half-strangled and half-crazed guffaw. "They ran out of patience. He's dead."

"No, that's impossible. Alex, I ordered a protective detail to be sent to Cameron's bedside. There's no way anyone could've laid a finger on him."

"Well, obviously it wasn't safeguarded enough because they dragged him out of the hospital and shot him like an animal!" snarled Mahone, his chest rising and falling rapidly as shock took hold of him. "Like … like ... like a dog, like they made me shoot Apolskis …"

"They're trying to draw you out," Jack persisted. He pointed at his cell, which Mahone had thrown onto the kitchen bench. "Let me call into headquarters. I'll confirm for you that he's still alive."

Mahone shook his head, clutching his forehead with his free hand.

"I don't care anymore, Jack. There's nothing left. All I want is Bill Kim dead!"

The FBI agent retreated into the lounge, heading for the front door. Jack followed as closely as he deemed without having Mahone snap and shoot him.

"You won't last two seconds in D.C. trying to find him."

"Room 1006, Gossamer Building, 16th Street, D.C.," Mahone recited from memory. "Top floor. Spacey, good view. Enclosed office most likely. Perfect for a little one-on-one payback."

"Revenge on Bill Kim won't achieve anything," Jack insisted, changing tact immediately. "You want to avenge Pam, help me find the bastard and keep him alive so he can lead us to the heart of the Company."

"And watch him get hauled off to a minimum security prison for ten years, to be released on parole in two? I'm doing this my way."

They reached the front door. Mahone rushed up to Jack, blue eyes tight with anger.

"This is for the move you pulled on my arm in Santa Fe."

He kneed Jack in the chest. Jack let out a tremulous yell.

Slumping against the wall, Jack's hands went down onto his knees as a sharp pain spread through a still unhealed laceration on his stomach. After a few seconds, the stinging sensation went away, and he was able to stand upright again.

Mahone had already fled out the front door.

At the same time, Kellerman descended the staircase, appearing unfazed yet sounding piqued as he said, "He's gone."

"Not yet."

Dashing outside, Jack reached the driveway in time to see Mahone swerving a second car out onto the road and speeding away.

"Damn it!"

Kellerman ran up to join him as he kneaded his chest.

"Bastard stole my coat and keys," he said, taking in the empty driveway with a glazed expression. "And … my car."

Jack grimaced. "He's still going after the Company, just like us. But he's going in alone."

"And that's a problem? Captain Chip-on-Shoulder-o'-Widower loose with a gun could be the distraction we need."

"Not if he dies."

Jack ran a hand through his hair, then pulled out his cell and pressed in a number. Kellerman's brow creased.

"What are you doing?"

"Dialling an old friend to help stop Alex before he gets himself killed."

Kellerman snickered. "A friend who's still alive, imagine that. Let's hope calling them like this won't do anything to change that."

Out of nowhere, Jack slammed Kellerman against the garage door, pinning him with a forearm shoved against his neck.

"Let's get one thing straight, Paul," he hissed, as his cell continued to dial. "Partnerships born out of necessity aren't breeding grounds for recurring references to the things in my life which were destroyed by the people you've worked for half your life. Push me again and there won't be another time."

A familiar series of beeps indicating he was being patched through to the person he wanted sounded in Jack's ear, and he pulled away. The other man's expression showed no loss of arrogance, but he had the decency to look at least somewhat abashed.

"O'Brian speaking."

Jack tore his glare from Kellerman and turned to hide the small glimmer of a smile on his face.

"Chloe. It's Jack."

There was a minute pause before Jack heard a rapid burst of keyboard strokes over the line.

Then, "You're not calling from China, sorry."

"I was released by the government less than a week ago and brought back to U.S. soil."

"Yeah, well, why would you call me? What if they've brainwashed you, and now you've been told to hack into the CTU mainframe or something? And it's not like I haven't heard of voice modifiers before, but whatever you're using is really good …"

"Chloe, please, we don't have time for this," Jack interrupted as gently as he could. He peered back at Kellerman, who was rubbing his throat, looking mutinous. "When I was hiding out in Chicago two years ago, the code word you used whenever we communicated to tell me you weren't speaking under duress was 'Alberta'."

The next resulting pause was filled with a small hiss of breath.

"Oh God, it's really you."

"I'm sorry I didn't let you know sooner. But I'm here to fix something bigger than we could've imagined, and I need your help to do that."

"Anything you ask for."

"I'm gonna need you to pull satellite bandwidth from the main servers as soon as possible. Do you think you can hide that from the Director for ten minutes?"

"Ever since Bill left, his replacement's been a complete idiot. Don't worry about it."

Suppressing any thoughts about what might have contributed to Bill's departure, Jack switched his phone to his left ear.

"I need satellite coverage of a building in D.C," he said, locking eyes with Kellerman's half-suspicious and half-curious ones. "There's a government agent we need to get to before my partner does."


	11. Bound By Blood

_Chapter 11: Bound By Blood_

* * *

"After just days spent in power, newly inaugurated President James Heller is facing his first wave of controversy amid allegations that current Fox River 8 lead agent Jack Bauer – a former employee of the President during his tenor as Secretary of Defence – was the mystery party who secured the escape of Dr. Sara Tancredi, the woman responsible for freeing the very men Agent Bauer had been assigned to track down. Agent Bauer's whereabouts are currently unknown.

In a press statement released earlier this morning, President Heller has implored the public to withhold judgement on the situation until all of the facts come to light. He has dismissed sightings of Agent Bauer leaving a crime scene at a Kansas hospital accompanied by Michael Scofield and Alexander Mahone, labelling the allegations as 'unsubstantiated presupposition'.

After the break, we take a look at the so-called 'curse' on those associated with the Fox River 8, and discuss in depth the back stories of several key players…"

Mahone wasn't accustomed to hiding in corners and looking over his shoulder at every turn. Despite that, he'd adjusted to his new life as a man on the run from the law and from the monopolizers of that law. With his skills as an FBI manhunter, he was barely breaking a sweat over keeping under just the right shadows and avoiding attracting attention from the wrong people. As a decoder of such behaviour for over a decade, he'd become a natural at it.

What was really tearing him up inside was the paranoia.

For the first couple of hours, he'd driven in circles in order to lose Jack, even though he knew instinctively that he'd dropped his partner as soon as he'd fled in Kellerman's car. Then he'd driven for two days straight to the Baltimore diner he was currently holed up in, enjoying only a few hours sleep in the back seat of the car on the way.

All that time, he'd waited. Listened on the radio and checked in online for news about Cameron. About what they'd done to him. Because even though he knew deep down that Jack had been right and his son was still alive, a part of him needed to believe it wasn't true. He could never go ahead with his plan knowing Cameron still needed him.

The darkest part of his psyche, which he'd fallen into time and time again over the last month, had consumed him completely. Now, in a choice between life as a single father who brought nothing but harm to his son, and a mission to wipe out everyone who had destroyed his family which would most likely end in his death, the latter won out.

Which, when he overcame his inner turmoil to think about it hard enough, made him not so different from his own father after all.

He laughed bitterly as he set his fifth cup of coffee down on the table he was seated at, tucked away in the corner of the diner. The television hanging over the counter was transitioning from the early morning news to a sports program. No mention of his son had been made again, further cementing as a lie the words Agent Brinker had taunted him with two days ago.

But there was no going back.

"One more, sir?"

Mahone jerked his eyes away from the sunrise outside to stare up at a young waitress standing before him. She was balancing a plate loaded with empty glasses in one hand, while returning his stare with petulant eyes. After a moment, he cleared his throat and shook his head, waving a dismissive hand at the same time.

"Alright then. Pay up front when you're ready."

She nodded before turning to leave, but stopped as Mahone abruptly rasped, "Wait."

"One more after all?"

"No." He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, blinking slowly. "I'm sorry. I just need to ask a question."

"Well, it's my job to help out customers." She eased the tray onto his table and wiped her hands on her apron. "Though it depends on the question."

"Uh, well. I'm in town to see someone. He comes in here every day, midday to half past. Normally orders a bagel and a latte with two sugars. Tall, sandy brown hair, hazel eyes. Do you know him?"

The waitress' brow furrowed. "One guy like that used to come in all the time when I first started out here. But he –" She suddenly clapped her hands together, startling an already exhausted Mahone. "Chris! You're talking about Mr. Hume, right?"

Mahone's insides clenched. "Yeah. Him."

"Well, sure, I know him. Great guy. But I was trying to say before, I haven't seen him around in a while. You friends with him?"

"Something like that." Mahone brushed a hand over the gun inside his jacket, before pushing the weapon further inside. "Thank you."

With a look of concern or annoyance on her face – Mahone couldn't tell the difference these days – the waitress picked up her tray and went back to work. Finishing the rest of his coffee, Mahone considered his reflection in the diner window. The waitress had good reason to be unnerved by him – he looked like hell.

It had been almost a week now since he'd taken some midazolam. The last time he'd abstained for so long was five months ago, when a hotshot reporter had begun investigating him over Shales. The reporter had gotten so close to the truth that Mahone had grown paranoid enough to think that even slipping a pill in his own bathroom would expose everything.

Despite the reporter moving on to a more lucrative story soon after, it had been a rough fortnight for Mahone. If anything, it had made his addiction worse, and he had no doubt that his second detox at this point would destroy him.

"You gonna do to Hume what you did to me?"

Tiredly facing the speaker, Mahone let out a shout and barely managed to stop himself before he pulled out his weapon. He staggered to his feet instead, and backed away quickly.

"What the h- what are you- how?"

The other man smirked from his seat as someone tapped Mahone on the shoulder. He spun around, eyes wild, to see the waitress and several other customers staring at him worriedly.

"Sir … is there a problem?"

Breathing heavily, Mahone dug out his wallet and shoved all the money inside into the waitress' hands. Babbling at her to keep it all, he ran out of the diner without looking back, and made straight for his car.

The other man had already beaten him to it.

"Diner reminds me of that little place in Detroit," the man commented, the amusement becoming only more palpable on his face as Mahone pulled out his gun and aimed it at him. "You remember what I left for you in Detroit, right, Alex? That little boy? And his mother …"

"I'm not afraid of you anymore, Shales," hissed Mahone, even as he was unable to stop his gun arm from shaking.

"So, what? You're gonna kill me again? Go ahead. Try it out. Any laugh'll do for me."

Mahone's face fell as he realised what was happening. Dropping his gun and touching a hand to his pounding head, he avoided Shales' leering gaze and climbed into his car.

He hadn't even pulled out of the parking lot before Shales was beside him in the passenger seat.

"How about Hume then?" the sociopath asked cheerily, punching Mahone in the shoulder. "Gonna kill him, then?"

"Get out," Mahone spat, jaw set in a painful clench, fingernails digging into the steering wheel.

"God, you're a mess. It's fantastic."

Shales intertwined his hands behind his head and leaned back against the headrest. Pulling up to a traffic light, Mahone managed a brief, pained glare at the con.

"Don't look at me like that, Alex," said Shales, his grin lessening. "Let's cut to the advice. Don't waste your time with a small timer like Hume. Go straight for the big fish in D.C."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really. You didn't come back here for revenge? Because you thrive on it. You made that point pretty effectively when you blew my neck out."

"I blew out your neck because you're a son of a bitch."

A long, deep chuckle emitted from Shales' throat. When he was finished, he shifted closer to breathe into Mahone's ear.

"Too clever for our own goods. The drugs. An innate propensity for murder. You killed me because I reminded you too well of how much of a monster you've become."

"You made me like this!" raged Mahone, his voice coming out as broken as he felt. "All the phone calls you made in the middle of the night. The notes you left at the … the crime scenes … you did this …"

"Yeah, figures you should've been the one he killed that day."

Mahone's breathing grew even more erratic as cold black eyes transformed into accusing amber ones.

"Jesus."

"You've finally lost your damn head, that's right," Trevor said, arching an eyebrow. "But no kidding, I always knew it wasn't quite there, know what I mean?"

"Trey …"

Mahone stopped. His uncertainty over what to say turned into relief that he wasn't that far lost to his own insanity.

"You're not real."

"Real enough. Look at you, man. Always crying about getting your life back when what you really shouldn't be down with is the fact I got offed and you didn't."

"Stop."

"Come on, think about it. I wouldn't have pulled hoods over the heads of the people I gave a damn about, I wouldn't be hooked on tranquilisers, I wouldn't have pussied out and butchered – what, that's seven guys now, right? I'd still have it together. And your wife and kid'd never have been shot up."

Shaking his head, Mahone turned into a close-knit street and spotted the house ahead.

"I've always wished it had gone that way, Trey. But I have to do this."

He pulled the car up outside the driveway. Reverting his attention to the passenger seat, his heart sank further as he came face to face with Pam.

Voice hitching, he murmured, "You always told me it'd do us both good if I saw him again."

Her beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes were glazed over. Shrinking slightly in his seat, he realised she wasn't even looking at him, and instead was focused on something behind him on the house's lawn. He glanced back, and saw nothing except an empty front yard.

"Please talk to me," he implored, tearing his gaze from the lawn. "Help me …"

He trailed off as he was met with thin air. Twisting back around, he caught sight of Pam's figure retreating down the lawn. He yanked the car door open and ran after her, calling out her name. She didn't respond, and merely hesitated a moment before disappearing behind a large garden hedge.

"Wait!"

Arriving on the other side of hedge, Mahone came to a dead halt. She was gone.

He clutched his head, running a hand through his hair again and again as though it would dampen the well of delirium ingrained within. Easing his hand down, he bit his knuckles and stumbled away from the house's front porch.

It had been a mistake coming here. While he needed to make amends, he also needed to be in a state of mind that didn't endanger everyone around him. And he could never expect to be welcome here even in his most sober state.

"Hello."

Mahone flinched as a young girl's voice floated out from his left. Peering to the source of it, he saw a blonde, pig-tailed girl with a newspaper in her hands staring back at him with bright green eyes.

"Who are you?" she chirped, as he took a slight step forward, devastation filling his face.

His reply came out in barely more than a whisper.

"I'm the one who got you killed."

The girl's curious expression fell into one of unease.

"Daddy?" she called, inching away from Mahone and backing towards the house's front porch.

"No, I know. He hanged himself after what Shales did to you in St. Louis. And I never … I never even went to visit your mother … so many things I never did ... Laura!"

Vaulting over the newspaper she'd dropped, Mahone followed the girl up the house's front steps. She threw the door open and dashed inside as his feet hit the doormat. The door promptly slammed in his face.

"Daddy!"

The pierced cry made him return to his senses. He withdrew his fingers before they closed around the doorknob. His chest thudded as he heard rapid footsteps approaching on the other side. However much he wanted to flee, he remained frozen in place as the door swung open again.

A reed-thin man with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes illuminated behind a pair of charcoal glasses appeared behind the security mesh door.

"Sir, I assure you I don't want any trouble here," the man said, holding up a cell phone in one hand as his face burned with anxiety. "I will have to call the police if you don't leave my premises immediately."

Mahone's jaw went slack. After a pause, he slapped a fist down on the wall beside the door, making the man jump back as he knew he would. Leaning his head in until it was only inches apart from the mesh door, he enunciated a single name in a throaty rasp.

"Christopher."

The other man's scared eyes narrowed into twin slivers of disbelief. Sliding his glasses from his angular face, he glanced behind him to see the small girl peeking out at them from the bottom of the house's winding staircase.

"Go out back to Mrs. Santora's place, will you sweetie?" he said, stooping down to the girl's eye level. "Tell her your babysitter can't make it today."

The girl folded her arms, angling further into view. "Who is he?"

"Just a friend, Mandy. Now go out back and leave us alone so we can have a chat for a bit, OK?" When the girl shook her head stubbornly, he let out a strained reproach. "Amanda!"

Mahone swallowed hard as the girl glared from her father to him, looking hurt and furious at the same time. Finally, she let out a long exhalation of breath like noxious fire and spun on her heel. There was a loud slam from the back of the house.

"Do you normally treat your daughter like that?" Mahone asked, as the man warily turned to face him again, tugging at the half-fastened tie around his neck.

"I don't take after Dad any more than you do." The man glanced up from the floor, bringing himself to look into Mahone's bloodshot eyes. "That said, can you blame me for wanting her to leave when you show up on my doorstep like this? God, Alex. I didn't even recognise you."

"Hardly surprising considering my niece doesn't even know I exist. That's what happens when one brother abandons another."

The man let out an incredulous laugh, pocketing his glasses and yanking out his cell phone.

"My God, is that why you're here? Is that why you're here? I'm calling the cops. Right now."

Mahone pulled open the right side of his jacket, revealing the holstered gun inside. "How about don't, Chris?"

"So you're going to shoot me." Chris didn't even wince at the sight of the weapon, but desisted from punching numbers into his phone. "At this point I wouldn't even be surprised."

"I just want to talk."

"Do it from behind a sheet of plexiglass after you turn yourself in. How dare you come here, talk to my daughter, expose my family like this? Having this conversation right now could land me with an aid and abet charge!"

"Oh, please." Mahone allowed the corners of his mouth to rise in a smirk. "Only a bank CEO would be that ignorant about law enforcement."

His brother stared. As he stashed his phone away, his face a picture of hurt, it seemed to Mahone for a moment as though the man before him was the lost little boy who years ago had waved at him in farewell from the back of their mother's Chevy, tears spilling from his eyes.

It wasn't until he heard a click and saw the mesh door opening that he realised Chris had unlocked it. He stood a few feet back from him, however, still as tense as a herd of antelope being staked out for the kill.

"What do you want, Alex?"

"Exactly what I said. I want to talk with my little brother."

When Mahone entered the house to stand in the door's frame, eliciting no protest from Chris, he sauntered further inside and shut the door behind him.

"We both need to put some things behind us," he continued intermittently, shedding his jacket and checking his bandaged arm. "I do, at least. Before I move onto more … final things …"

He hesitated as he caught sight of an intricately carved photo frame hanging beside the coat rack. Propped inside it was a picture of Chris with his arms around his daughter, and his head leaning casually on the shoulder of a smiling, auburn-haired woman.

They were the family Mahone could never have for himself again. It was the worst reminder he could possibly have been given.

He regarded Chris once more, struggling to drown a surge of bitterness. "Where is she?"

"She's having some of her work unveiled at an art gallery up north," Chris replied, motioning at Mahone to follow him into the living room. "But all things considered, it's probably a stroke of fortune that Fiona isn't here."

Strolling after his brother, Mahone took in the house's spacious, rustic beauty. Potted palm trees were scattered across the white tiled floor. A glass ensconced balcony which led out from the living room and projected over a wide stretch of land appeared twice as large as his bedroom back in Chicago.

He stood back awkwardly as a large plasma screen came into view. A news report was broadcasting on it, and he immediately recognised the tearful widow being interviewed. It was Kacee Franklin.

Chris flicked the television off, his expression equally uncomfortable. He gestured at the sofa as he slumped down onto an armchair. Mahone stiffly took a seat, removing his gun holster from around his shoulders and dropping it onto the coffee table in front of him.

"So," Chris began, casting a deprecatory eye over the display of power dumped before him. "What are you really here for? I'm thinking money or drugs."

Mahone's dark-circled eyes shimmered with annoyance. "How can you talk to me like that?"

"Oh, I'm not the one doing the talking. It's the newspapers, the magazines, the radio and TV outlets, the online goddamn conspiracy theorists – all of them, ever since that tape came out. Ever since you murdered your wife."

"You …" Mahone bit down on his lip and held himself in place before he could do something he regretted. "You'd believe them over the word of your own brother."

"Of course I would."

Chris sprang from his chair, unable to stand the sight of the gun or his dishevelled sibling. He paced up to the balcony's sliding door, gazing out of it with an inscrutable expression.

"I can't compare all the rumours flying around to the brother I knew. You're a stranger to me now, Alex. You're just …"

"Like Dad?" Mahone's face twitched as Chris blinked at him guiltily. "It's okay, you can say it. I turned out just as good a father as Dad ever was. Even better than that, a homicidal one."

"You're the last person to be coming to conclusions about what I should think," spat Chris, rubbing his upper left arm in an act which Mahone knew meant he was steeling himself to say something unpleasant. "It's been 12 years since Mom's funeral, and you've never returned a single one of my phone calls since. You didn't even come back to help bury Dad."

"That man's corpse deserved to be torn apart by rabid dogs, not given the dignity of a casket. Do you remember what he did to us? To Mom? But I guess you only had to put up with it all for – let's see, an entire decade less than I did?"

Chris rounded on him. "I knew it, I knew you'd bring this up."

"I'm not bringing up anything," Mahone snapped, kneading his throbbing temple. "I'm pointing out something relevant to the conversation. You're the one blowing it out of proportion."

"That's how you work, Alex. You lay the accusations on thick underneath a layer of pure crap, and when someone calls you out on it, you bail. You're a hypocrite. You destroy the families of innocent men with one hand and demand forgiveness from your own with the other, when nothing … ever, would justify it."

Mahone tilted his head bemusedly at his brother.

"Where the hell did that come from?"

Deflating a bit, Chris moved away from the balcony door and wordlessly entered the kitchen. Mahone felt a familiar, searing pain tear through his already aching head, and he propped it onto his open palms, clearing his throat as though it would rid him of the headache as well.

"Have some of this."

Chris materialised beside him on the sofa. He forced a glass of water into his brother's trembling hands, concern barely palpable but still visible on his face. Taking a sip from the glass, Mahone kept longing eyes on his gun as Chris moved back to the armchair.

"I didn't let you in here so I could turn you in," he said after a few minutes of awkward silence. "But I do want answers. Explanations. Anything – just tell me you haven't become the uncle and the brother-in-law I have to tell my own family to be afraid of."

Mahone said nothing in reply, choosing instead to down some more water and gaze absently into the distance. Shifting in his seat, Chris leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of Mahone's blank eyes.

"Um, OK. Are you feeling alri-"

"I didn't mean what I said before, you know," Mahone cut in, setting his glass down on the table as he continued to avoid his brother's disconcerted stare. "Leaving with Mom, changing your name to hers, getting a second chance. I want you to know I never hated you for that. Never blamed you."

"Well, yeah. I was six years old."

Another headache overcoming him, Mahone bowed his head and let out a sudden groan. Misinterpreting the sound, Chris discarded his tie on the coffee table and scooted onto the sofa again. He rested a hand on Mahone's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but merely made his sibling flinch away in pain.

"Come on, Alex," he said gently, watching as Mahone rolled his head around, stretching his neck. "No more dancing around the elephant. The benzodiazepine's pushing you to the edge, but I don't want to lose you again. I want my brother back."

Mahone glanced sharply at Chris, who smiled.

"Some reporter found the dealer who'd been supplying you. Frankly, you look a hundred times worse than I imagined."

No longer unfamiliar with such betrayals, Mahone made no reaction other than a sad flicker of his eyes. Chris rocked onto the soles of his feet, looking away with a frustrated expression.

"So who's Laura?"

A dark, ugly shade of red followed the throwaway comment in slapping Mahone across the face. He slowly pivoted his head towards Chris, anger and shame and murder in his glance all at once.

Then, with a sudden, involuntary shudder, he broke down.

Chris looked mortified as his brother leapt up from the sofa in an effort to hide the onslaught of tears. Though Mahone rubbed furiously at his eyes, trying to stem the flow, he grew only more distressed, until he was leaning against the wall, shaking uncontrollably.

"It's going to be okay," Chris said, coming over as Mahone slid down onto the ground. "You can still make this right."

"I can't." Mahone's voice paled into a whisper, his head sunk between his knees. "I can't do this anymore, Chris."

"That's not true."

"That's exactly what you should be thinking about me!" yelled Mahone, the tortured words making Chris recoil. "I didn't come here for hope. I killed … so many … and Pam, and Cameron … and I got to live. I got to live."

"But it's all done. If you give up now, all of it will have been for nothing."

Mahone laughed bitterly, getting to his feet and snatching up his holster and gun.

"Things are so much simpler when you're not the one being blackmailed into murder."

Chris followed him as he headed back out to the entrance hall.

"You're bailing again," he murmured, as Mahone struggled to wrap his jacket around his shoulders.

"I shouldn't have come."

"Why did you?"

Halting as Chris threw a hand onto the door in front of his face, barring him from leaving, Mahone let out a deep breath and met his brother's hazel eyes. His stomach lurched as he saw within them an emotion that had grown to sicken him.

It was the care worn by Michael and Lincoln as they'd ripped open the elevator shaft panel and tried to free the kid. It was the mutual looks of adoration plastered on Jack and Audrey Raines' faces as they'd first laid eyes on each other. It was the devotion that had compelled Pam to come to his aid in Durango.

It was the love that would get Chris killed.

"I came here to tell you …" Mahone coughed, and rubbed his throat as he overcame his loss of words. "I came here to tell you that I care about you as a brother. More than you'll ever know. But you can't do the same for me."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Just forget about me. When this is over, don't come forward and admit you're family. Or that you even knew me … or they'll target you too."

Chris gave a brief shake of his head as Mahone moved for the doorknob. "Wait."

"I have to go, I'm sorry."

"There's no Mrs. Santora on this block!" Chris blurted out, forcing the door shut as Mahone opened it. "They'll be here any minute."

It took Mahone a moment to register what his brother was saying. When he did, panic and dismay consumed his features.

"She called the cops?"

"What else was I supposed to have Amanda do?" Chris shouted back, as Mahone withdrew from the door. "You're a wanted man, and you need help."

Mahone paced in front of the staircase, stammering almost unintelligibly.

"You have no idea what you've done."

"I've done you a favour."

"God, Chris … they can monitor any 911's that come in about anybody. They'll reroute it … they'll find out who made the call, too …"

He stopped and turned as the sound of a car door slamming filtered in from outside. Chris peered through the glass panels on the front door.

"They're here."

"We have to leave. Now," growled Mahone, grabbing Chris' arm and pulling him back as his brother shook his head.

"For once in your life, just accept some help."

"Mr. Hume?"

Mahone froze as the familiar female voice reached his ears. He clasped a hand over Chris' mouth before he could respond.

"Don't, say anything, or she will kill you," he hissed, loosening his gun from its holster.

"Mr. Hume!" the woman repeated, accompanying her address with two thumps on the door. "This is the FBI. We received a distress call to this address ten minutes ago, and we'd like a few words."

There was a loud crash. It wasn't until glass shards sprayed onto the ground at Mahone's feet, and he felt something sticky and unpleasant seeping through his hair, that he realised Chris had smashed something onto his head.

He barely managed to spin around and direct a look of utter betrayal at Chris before he collapsed onto the floor, pain exploding from where he'd been hit. A groan escaped his lips as Chris knelt over him, tugging the gun from his hands.

"This is for your own good, Alex," he said, tossing the weapon out of reach and heading for the front door.

Mahone tried to shout at him to stop, but only managed a weak croak. He squinted as Chris opened the door and sunlight affronted his eyes, before realising with horror who the two people standing outside on the porch were.

"Mr. Hume," a blonde woman said, flashing a wallet with a small nod at the man beside her. "Agent Rachel Cullins. This is my partner, Agent Bill Kim."

"Pleasure," said Kim, smiling coldly as his black eyes flickered from Chris to Mahone, who was pushing himself up from the ground.

Mahone arranged himself into an agonizing sitting position as Chris moved aside, allowing the Company agents to enter. Kim pressed his hands together, sneering down at his captured pawn as the blonde woman checked behind her before closing the door.

"Uh, yeah, I had to get a little physical," Chris said, as Kim removed a pair of handcuffs from his suit jacket. "But he didn't come here to hurt me or my family. We are brothers, after all."

"Wow." Kim drew out the exclamation as he pulled Mahone's hands behind his back and fastened the cuffs around them. "Alex has a brother. That's the second time we've failed to effectively dig up family history during our targets' background checks."

The blonde woman looked uncomfortable as Chris gave an equally nervous laugh.

"Targets? What are you … what do you think you're doing?"

His eyes widened in surprise as he felt fingers slipping around his shoulders and forcing his hands into another pair of metal cuffs. It wasn't until the blonde woman marched him into the living room along with Kim and shoved him next to his brother on the sofa that he got over his shock.

"What the hell's going on?"

"Why don't you ask your brother?" Kim replied, a malicious smirk playing on his lips. "Honestly, Alex. You should've taken me out in Gila. You should've taken Rachel out in Kansas. Two chances you wasted and now we are out of patience."

Mahone fought through the combined pain that his head trauma and midazolam withdrawal was causing him, and managed to utter a single warning.

"I'll kill you."

"If I do what?" chortled Kim, leaning down until he was eye to eye with Mahone. "You were useless in life and you'll be useless in death, but first, why don't you tell me exactly where Scofield and Bauer are. You don't know how difficult it was covering up all of the sightings across the country."

Chris' eyes darted from a scowling Kim to a simmering Mahone. "Excuse me …"

"Might I suggest something, Mr. Hume," Kim interrupted, impatience creeping in. "Keep your mouth shut."

In the split second that Kim turned his attention to Chris, Mahone lashed out. Raising his feet to chest level, he kicked Kim backwards onto the coffee table, looped his cuffed hands underneath his legs so that they were in front of him, and leapt to his feet in one smooth motion. He slung the chain around Kim's throat and, in a move he'd performed many times before, began to strangle him.

"Let him go or I shoot your brother."

Mahone cast a savage look behind him, turning Kim around by the neck at the same time. Rachel had a silenced pistol against Chris' skull, her expression stony enough to confirm that she would go through with her threat.

"Just let me make sure he's dead first," he gritted.

Rachel rolled her eyes as Chris' widened in fear.

"I don't particularly enjoy playing bluffs, Alex, so let him go now or I shoot you both."

There was a tense silence as Kim's face began to turn blue. Finally, as Rachel transferred her gun over to train it on Mahone, he released the Company agent, and Kim fell forward, hacking and coughing. Glaring daggers into Rachel, Mahone raised his hands in surrender. He sat back next to his brother, who exhaled in relief and anguish as Rachel lowered her weapon.

Kim was livid.

"That was a … neat trick," he glowered, rubbing his neck. "But not nearly as practical as this one."

With a sharp thrust, Kim sent his tightened knuckles crashing into Chris' left cheekbone. Mahone let out a furious yell as blood sprouted from his younger brother's face.

"You piece of goddamn shi-"

"Scofield and Bauer, or your brother dying as painfully as you can imagine," Kim said over him, sending fist after fist into Chris' face. "Your wife got off easy with a single bullet, but when I'm through with Mr. Hume here, he won't be any more recognisable than a slab of meat."

"I swear to God I don't know where they are!"

"Really."

"Bill, cut it out!"

Kim relented, surprise crossing his face as his partner stopped one of his punches in mid-air. Chris made a noise like a whimper, one of his eyes already swelling shut, as Rachel pushed Kim's arm down. Something akin to indignity flitted across her face.

"We're supposed to bring Bauer and Scofield in alive, not beat innocent civilians to a bloody pulp on the off chance we'll get their locations," she hissed, pulling Kim aside. "Snap out of it."

"If you can't handle the finer points of your job, Cullins, maybe you should've stayed inside the car."

Rachel looked like she'd been slapped as Kim shrugged her off him. Dusting off his jacket, he nodded towards the front hall.

"Come to think of it, you can leave right now and check with our clean-up crew that Scofield and Bauer aren't already in the vicinity."

Though it seemed for a moment as though she was going to protest, Rachel merely shared a mutinous glance with Mahone, before pulling out her cell and stalking off to the front hall.

Mahone rallied next to his brother.

"If you kill us both, Kim, even the Company won't be able to explain it away."

"Oh, I think a murder-suicide ruling would suffice," Kim replied, digging into his jacket and producing a small sidearm. "Fortunately for you, there's been a change in strategy. And you get one more chance with the higher-ups."

"You mean the Company still needs a fall guy."

To Mahone's consternation, the agent shook his head and held the pistol in front of his cuffed hands.

"Take it," he urged, shaking the weapon slightly as Mahone stared down at it.

Wasting no time, Mahone stood and grabbed the gun. He aimed it at the point on Kim's chest where he suspected a heart had died some time in the past, but quickly discerned that the gun was far too light to be harbouring a cartridge, and desisted.

Kim smirked and snatched the weapon back.

"For quite a while now, I've been under the impression that you've severely been overestimating my stupidity," he remarked, removing a round from his pocket and inserting it into the gun. "Now I just need a little more … assurance."

Mahone only snapped out of his dazed state when his brother said his name, alarm etched into his voice.

Shaking off the stupor that seemed to be swallowing him whole, he realised Kim had threaded the gun through his fingers again, and had positioned it squarely towards Chris' chest. Kim was mirroring his position by holding a second weapon to Mahone's head.

"Shoot him," he ordered, as Mahone's eyes wavered in confusion.

"My brother isn't in his right frame of mind, who the hell do you think you are to manipulate him like this!" exclaimed Chris, gathering enough courage to get to his feet.

"A simple test of loyalty," Kim replied, holding up his free hand and stopping Chris from coming any closer. "Alex. Kill him."

"Are you insane?" Mahone asked, pivoting his head a small fraction towards Kim but remaining still. "Even if you possibly had something left to offer me, I wouldn't shoot my own brother."

"Oh, I'd love nothing more than to see you both in the ground. My … superior, however, still has a use for you. But we need to clean up this mess first. And I need a reason to even consider trusting you again."

"Please," begged Chris, as Mahone raised the gun slightly instead of lowering it.

"He was perfectly willing to hand you over to the authorities. You have no obligation towards him."

"For god's sake, Alex."

"Hable might need you again, but I have no doubt I have permission to run out of patience unless you follow orders within the next ten seconds."

A violent stillness seized the room as Mahone's weapon nearly fell out of his grasp. Thoughts and memories fumbled over themselves as he swallowed a wave of nausea.

Kim's smirk widened as a hoarse and harsh whisper finally fell from Mahone's lips.

"What did you say?"

"Hable," Kim repeated without missing a beat. "Frankly, I'm dumbfounded that you ever thought he'd let you go after you left the forces."

"He was Company," said Mahone, almost to himself.

"And still is. Things the General did overseas … even compared to what he had you do. Well. He's been retired from the public eye for quite a while now."

Chris' stricken gaze bounced back and forth between his brother and the man who was demanding his death.

"He's the one who ruined my life," Mahone concluded, rage replacing incredulity.

"Why do you think you were put in charge of the Fox River manhunt? Especially after Shales? You were one of his best soldiers. Now he wants you back for good."

Mahone's face was distraught as Kim nodded towards Chris.

"Granted, you need to start remembering how to follow orders."

Nobody moved.

"Put your brother in the ground now, Alex!"

* * *

_15 years ago – Basra, Iraq_

* * *

"Swear on my Harley D … should've shot that bastard when I had the chance."

The frequent and sizable bursts of swearing emanating from the passenger seat next to Mahone were making it hard for him to keep a straight face. Still exhausted from the previous day's patrol and more than a little nervous at the upcoming day's events, he couldn't resist a dig at his companion.

"You're gonna need to make an excuse for that if you want to make it through the preliminaries."

"Yeah, thought about it. How's this: my piss-ass pal here distracted me by yelling at me to take cover, allowing the suspect ample time to gouge into my arm with a butchers knife."

"Might've been worse if I hadn't," Mahone remarked, pivoting their truck around a barrier that had been abandoned in the middle of the road. "It could've been your oesophagus, Ryan."

"I wouldn't give a shit where it went, as long as it wasn't two days before now!"

Though they both shared impressive operational skills, Corporal Ryan Kingswood was markedly different from his friend.

Mahone had proven himself as an unrivalled tactician in the field, coming out of every conflict he'd been in since arriving in the Gulf with no casualties on his record.

Ryan, on the other hand, was more of a strategist, always thinking too far ahead for his own good. His partiality towards acting brashly had cost him a generous amount a few months back when he'd led a field unit into a trap. Three of his men had died, and he'd almost been decommissioned.

Eventually, he'd been demoted from Staff Sergeant to Corporal, and given a ranking supervisor – namely, Mahone. Neither had expected to hit it off so well with the other, considering that both had been reluctant to take the other on. But they'd surprised even themselves.

"I still think this is a waste of time," said Ryan, after sighing dramatically and dropping his re-bandaged arm into his lap. "Why are you so stuck on getting into Division 5 anyway?"

Mahone didn't reply for a moment as he gave a hard glance into the distance. Armed soldiers were stationed up ahead on the road, and further along, an enormous encampment loomed like a mirage under the area's oppressive heat.

"Because I'm bored," he finally replied. When Ryan rolled his eyes, he continued, "Please. You can't say doing the same rounds over and over again, day in day out is anywhere close to satisfying. Special Forces is where it all happens."

"It'd be great to get in. But, you know …"

Ryan trailed off as he inched himself up on his seat, trying not to bump his wounded arm. Mahone flicked curious blue eyes at him.

"Know what?"

"Division 5, that's all." Ryan nodded at the soldiers as they directed them on through the security fence and into the encampment. "I've heard rumours about why they're recruiting today. Mission gone wrong in Kosovo last week."

"So Kosovo's getting on your nerves," scoffed Mahone, drifting their vehicle into a dusty parking spot. "This is the Gulf, pal. Who cares?"

"But … well, I heard a Division 5 unit broke NATO parameters and tried to take out some guy named Drazen. Bomb hit the target but they got ambushed, and only the captain got out alive. I'm just saying. It's shady stuff what these guys get up to."

Mahone chewed his lip thoughtfully as he switched the engine off. He turned and faced his friend, who was looking troubled.

"You've got to stop holding yourself accountable for Mosul," Mahone said, trying to sound comforting but by no means succeeding. "Circumstances were out of your control … they know that. They're not going to hold it over your head."

"You think?"

Ryan jerked his head at Mahone, eyes narrowed. Mahone shrugged and slapped him on the shoulder, before opening the truck door.

"We'll find out soon enough. Come on."

They slammed the vehicle doors shut in time to catch a tall man with receding brown hair approaching them from inside the hangar. His face was plastered with a warm smile that was rare in the forces these days, let alone worn by someone so high up in the food chain.

"Lieutenant Mason, sir, we spoke on the phone," said Ryan, shaking the officer's hand. "This is Sergeant Mahone."

"Please, call me George," the man replied genially, transferring the handshake over to Mahone. "You're just in time, too. General Hable touched down a short while ago."

"The General … touched down?"

Mahone and Ryan shared a quizzical glance as they followed Mason towards the hanger entrance.

"Oh, yeah, about that. He decided he wanted to oversee your testing in person. Actually –" Mason gave a small chuckle "– there won't even be a panel."

Pulling on his sleeves, growing more anxious by the second, Mahone threw a look behind him before following Ryan and Mason into the hanger.

The first thing he noticed was how profoundly empty it was. The sheer size of the building only served to exacerbate the feeling of smallness and inadequacy that suddenly swamped him.

It took him a moment to realise that a heavy-set man with a completely bald head was waiting for them on the far end of the hanger.

"Not to be patronising, sir," Mahone began in a hesitant voice, leaning over to address Mason. "But I was under the impression there'd be more, uh … candidates, here?"

"We've already gone through all the candidates," replied Mason casually.

They finally reached General Hable. Meeting the cold eyes affixed above the man's scowling lips, Mahone's throat went dry, but he refused to look away. Ryan appeared similarly unnerved.

When at last Hable shifted his gaze, he merely nodded at Mason, saying nothing. Then, to Mahone's astonishment, he pulled out a notepad and pen from his heavily decorated jacket and began to write something.

Mahone took the opportunity to glance at Ryan. His friend already had an eyebrow raised at him.

The General cleared his throat, and they both snapped back to attention. Mahone saw that he was holding a message up to Mason, and only barely managed to read it in time before the General scrunched it up.

Area cleared?

"Yes, sir, it's perfectly safe to talk here," Mason said, accompanying his assurance with a short nod.

Still refusing to remove the frown from his face, the General lifted the notepad again.

Leave us.

Mahone began to sweat as Mason saluted, acknowledged them both with a small smile, and departed. Though he had no reason to feel in danger at that moment, every hair on the back of his neck was standing up straight.

"Corporal Kingswood. Sergeant Mahone. It's my pleasure to finally meet you both."

The two friends were speechless as the General spoke with something akin to respect in his deep voice. After a moment, Ryan surmised that Mahone had been rendered dumbstruck, and hastily answered for them both.

"All things considered, General sir, it's an honour on our ends to be granted a meeting with a man of your reputation and stature."

The General didn't return Ryan's smile.

"Do either of you know why I'm taking the time out of my schedule to talk with two military grunts?"

Mahone flinched as Ryan's face fell. Expecting the worst, neither of them replied as the General straightened his jacket and began to stroll towards a curtain in the far corner of the hanger.

"Doubtless, you've both heard half-truths and ruminations about Division 5," he said, not even looking back to check that Mahone and Ryan were following him, which they were, albeit reluctantly. "They are the pick of the Special Forces. The elite … of the elite."

The General stopped directly in front of the curtain, combing through the folds with his fingers.

"Entrance isn't granted through application," he continued, turning back to face his guests. "We utilise a stringent selection process only."

"I don't understand, General sir," Mahone said, finally speaking up.

Regarding Mahone for long enough to make him stare back at the ground, the General's answer was quick and sharp.

"Alexander Mahone. IQ of a certifiable genius, field reading and tactical reasoning skills to rival that of the most seasoned generals, and a 12-man incursion into a hostile 100-man stronghold that ended without a single casualty under his belt. Remarkable considering his academy test scores indicate he's as dumb as a rock."

"Thank you sir," replied Mahone quickly, bemused by the double rejoinder.

"And Ryan Kingswood," the General went on without missing a beat. "Trained and superior in the highest forms of tai kwon do, jujitsu and krav maga. Able to assemble and disassemble a M16 in the blink of an eye, and kill you with it in even less. Careless, at times – but formidable."

Ryan's face went a light shade of scarlet as the General moved back to the curtain.

"Gentlemen. I'm here today to welcome you, and to warn you. During your tenure with Division 5 – if you so choose to accept it – you will be asked to do things that under normal circumstances would be considered morally corrupt. Things that we as arbitrators of the law have no choice but to carry out in order to uphold an equilibrium of democracy and justice."

In one sharp movement, the General pulled the curtain back. Mahone caught sight of what was behind it, and recoiled in horror.

Seated on an aluminium chair with thick lengths of rope securing him around his wrists and ankles was a local man who had been beaten to within an inch of his life. Bruises and cuts criss-crossed along his face like a patchwork quilt. The terror in the man's eyes was scarcely visible beneath his red, swollen lids. A piece of cloth tightly gagged his mouth.

"What the hell is this?" Mahone asked, forgetting his place.

Making no sign of displeasure at the show of disrespect, the General waved a hand at the beaten and bloody captive.

"This … well, this scum's name isn't important. What is, is that he is a traitor to this squadron. A triple agent. Under the alias of a reformed insurgent, he approached us and offered to pass on information in exchange for immunity – when in fact, he was filching and selling far more potent secrets to the organisation which held his true allegiance. That culminated in the deaths of 20 of my finest men in a roadside attack."

The prisoner was darting his eyes between Mahone, the General and an eerily quiet Ryan so fast it was making Mahone more nauseous than he already felt. Watching Mahone's face carefully, the General stepped aside, granting a full view of the captive.

"Shoot him," he said in a simple voice.

The pistol in Mahone's holster suddenly felt ten times heavier as he digested the General's order.

"Excuse me?"

"Take out your sidearm, aim it at his forehead, and pull the trigger. A minute ago, Alex, I talked about justice. Now I want to see it."

"Justice is … with all due respect, General sir, justice is locking him up and throwing away the key. Not this."

"We need a body to set an example to any other informants who might think to turncoat on us."

"But this isn't setting an example," Mahone sputtered, as the prisoner's eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets. "This is mur–"

A loud bang cut him off. He let out a stunned yell as the prisoner was propelled backwards a few centimetres. Thrashing in his seat, the prisoner started to scream through his gag as the gaping bullet hole in his chest became apparent.

Mahone spun around. As he met eyes with Ryan, whose face was drenched in loathing and disgust only for the man he'd just shot, he felt for the first time a sense of fear as he detected no hint of remorse from his friend.

The General started to clap.

"Excellent shot, Ryan," he exclaimed, still not smiling but sounding pleased. "And leftovers, too … Alex, finish him off."

It took all of Mahone's efforts not to throw up then and there.

He's a traitor.

But Mahone wasn't a murderer.

He brought this on himself.

There was no going back from this.

End his misery.

The prisoner was openly weeping now, the pain emanating from his wound close to unbearable. He looked up and began to tremble violently as Mahone slowly withdrew his pistol and raised it at him.

Do it, and finally prove to the old man you can be somebody.

Mahone fired.

The General made an approving noise as the prisoner slumped forward, eyes wide, and glassy, and dead.

"Fine work, gentlemen. Fine work."

A headache suddenly ripped itself through Mahone. Touching a hand to his forehead, he tried to tear his eyes away from the corpse of his own making, and found he couldn't.

"How do we even know you were telling the truth about him being a traitor?" he choked out.

"That doesn't matter," said the General, strolling up to him with his hands behind his back. "What's important is that you, both of you, gentlemen, carried out your orders without question. That trait will be an invaluable asset for any member of the Special Forces."

He placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Ryan, Alex. You both have a wonderful future ahead of you. Welcome to Division 5."


	12. Sunset Ridge

_Chapter 12: Sunset Ridge_

* * *

"You know, if you hadn't gone off the map after just three days back on home soil, and hadn't all but guaranteed your face on the front cover of every national newspaper by freeing Tancredi …"

"Shut up."

"… this all would have been a whole hell of a lot easier," Kellerman finished.

The bluntness in his companion's words threatened the remaining visage of Jack's patience. His right hand twitched against his will as his fingers flew over the computer keyboard. The annoyance that flared inside him, however, stemmed more from Kellerman's pointed look than from his own show of weakness.

It was a testament to Kellerman's insufferable nature that after just ten minutes on the road with him, Jack had begun to consider Mahone at his rudest or Chloe at her most awkward as better travelling companions.

The man seemed to gravitate towards topics of conversation that allowed him to utilise his inherent cynicism to its fullest. When he'd switched from speculating about what the government had given up to free Jack from China, to whether Chloe really was just a friend of Jack's or something more, Jack had threatened to kick him out into the middle of a ten-lane freeway.

Kellerman had managed to stay quiet for all of five minutes.

He was irritating Jack even more now, pacing back and forth behind his chair as he sat typing at the computer kiosk. Halting as the monitor began to spit out line upon line of what appeared to be nothing more than gibberish, Kellerman leaned over his shoulder, brow furrowed.

"We're risking exposure logging into a downtown library computer for War and Peace translated into hexadecimal code?"

Jack didn't reply, instead pulling a PDA out from his bag and holding it over Kellerman's hand on the desk. Getting the message, Kellerman shifted his arm out of the way, and watched with disquiet as Jack connected the gadget through a USB wire. The PDA gave a quiet beep, screen flashing, before it went dark again.

"If I'm going to be anything more than a glorified sidekick who serves any purpose other than allowing you to communicate the fact that you want me dead every time you lay eyes on me –" Kellerman hesitated as Jack disconnected the PDA and stuffed it back into his bag "– I need a few starting points."

"Like what?"

Kellerman barely mustered a flinch at Jack's low growl. He followed quickly behind as Jack brushed past him, heading for the library exit.

"Like what you and your girlfriend have planned to find Bill Kim. Like what you just uploaded onto that PDA. On a public, hackable, traceable, computer, no less."

A fleeting expression of contempt crossed Jack's face as they neared their silver-grey rental car. He spun on his heel suddenly, stopping Kellerman in his tracks.

"I want to make this very clear to you," Jack hissed, oblivious to their exposed positions in the library parking lot. "The only reason, and I mean the only reason why I'm allowing you to tag along right now is because I can't afford to have an accomplice surrender me to the authorities. Audrey trusts me to keep you alive, that's it. So stop asking so many questions, or the only thing I'll be making sure of is you spending the rest of this trip unconscious in the trunk."

An intimidated glimmer lit Kellerman's green eyes for only a second, before he smoothed his face over with a patronising smirk.

"You know what does good for people like you, Jack?" he remarked, clapping a hand on the other man's shoulder and eliciting a pained grimace. "Psychopathologists."

Jack looked taken aback at the insult, giving Kellerman ample time to stroll around him and climb into the driver's seat of the car. Blinking rapidly, swallowing his own self-disgust as he realised how close to the truth Kellerman's words had hit, Jack turned and entered the car himself.

There was a strained silence as Kellerman pulled onto the road. Reading from the PDA screen, Jack did some quick calculations in his head, before shutting the device off again.

"So," Kellerman said, studying Jack from the corner of his eye. "Where are we headed?"

"Baltimore."

"Okay."

Kellerman tapped a hand on the steering wheel, staring out at the road with a sliver of annoyance. Taking a sip from the water bottle inside his bag, Jack caught onto the other man's irritation, and frowned.

"The only thing you need to know right now – the only thing you need to remember – is that Chloe O'Brian is very good at what she does. She passed on phone transcripts from Bill Kim's office through a secure line. He found Mahone."

"Oh, right, of course I remember. I thought we were past this, Jack. I was just following orders."

"When you kill a man's friends and ruin his life, the reasoning isn't exactly the most important thing to him," Jack muttered, not missing a beat. "And trust me, if anything happens to Chloe because of this, you're the first person I'm holding accountable."

"As opposed to the guy who called her in the first place and begged for her help?"

Kellerman shook his head as Jack tried to contain his anger, failing in all of two seconds.

"You're the one who tracked me down in Chicago," he spat. "You're the one who discovered Chloe knew I was still alive. You're the one who let the Company figure out that Michelle Dessler, Tony Almeida and David Palmer were in on it too. You made them all targets, and for all I know, Chloe still is."

"Audrey, too?" Kellerman asked, voice hushed.

Dejection washed over Jack's face as they turned at a traffic light, and Kellerman continued in a stronger voice.

"I know moving past the fact that I was Company and that I kept you and my cousin apart is impossible for a man like you. But it kept her alive. The Company erased my identity – even after I abandoned my family and friends for them. Killed my partner to protect them. Audrey is all I have left. And you are nothing but a threat to her."

"I doubt letting her stay with you when the Company wanted you dead was such a better idea."

"At least the people I love don't die."

Jack's cell rang. Letting the shrill tone wash over him for a few moments, he yanked it out from his bag, his composure lessening with every second.

"This is Jack."

"Jack," replied Chloe, sounding harassed, and justifiably so judging from the background noise on her end. "Bill Kim just made another call from his cell."

"That doesn't matter anymore, we know where he's going. Damn it, Chloe, we have to be safe about these calls."

"I know. But you need to know what he said. I think it's important."

Softening at the blatant stress in Chloe's words, Jack replied more gently, "What did he say?"

"It doesn't really make sense. And whoever was on the other line was really good – I couldn't access their location or what they were saying. And they were using a voice scrambler. But Kim mentioned something about what's going to happen at 'Sunset Ridge' in two days, and that he's going to meet his boss there in 36 hours."

"You think that's important."

"It has to be. Jack, why else would Kim be using such a covert line unless he was talking with his superior? Someone who really doesn't want to be overheard? If we find out what Sunset Ridge is, we can find whoever it was there."

Jack found himself nodding in agreement.

"Fine. But cross checking against locations is too easy. Code names, former military operations, anagrams of names … it could be anything."

"Yeah, well, I already compared it to everything in CTU's database. I'm forwarding the results to your PDA right now."

"Hang on."

Fastening his cell between his ear and shoulder, Jack logged on to his temporary account. He opened up the encrypted file Chloe had sent him, and sighed as a bottomless list appeared on his PDA screen.

"There are dozens of matching locations in the country alone."

"I'm sorry, Jack, it's the best I could do without raising a flag."

"No." Jack tore his eyes from the PDA and cast a glance at Kellerman, who wasn't even bothering to hide his interest in the conversation. "It's more than you should have done. Chloe, if the Company finds out you've been helping me, I won't be able to stop them from getting to you in time."

"It's OK, I know how to cover my tracks."

"Good." Jack smiled at the familiar stubbornness in Chloe's voice. "I could never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"Same here. By the sound of it, Kim's going to get to Baltimore before you do. Be careful, Jack."

"I will."

They ended the call. A twisted grin formed on Kellerman's lips, drawing a suspicious look from Jack as he fastened his bag shut.

"What?"

"Just friends, huh?"

"I don't need to justify my relationships with you."

"Oh, I have no doubt you're only good friends," Kellerman drawled, smirking again. "Though it brings into question exactly how much you care about my cousin."

Jack glared. "Don't even try."

"No, I think you need to hear what I have to say. Because this is how I see it. You continue this charade with Audrey not because you love her as much as she does you, but because you need to convince yourself you can still have a normal life. You will never care for her the way you did Teri. You will never be able to provide her with what she needs."

"You think I'm being unfair to her?"

"As much as it would hurt her for you to end things …"

"The only person who knows what's best for Audrey is herself," Jack cut in, tossing his bag onto the back seat with more force than was necessary. "She spent nine months in China looking for me. Men like you aren't capable of understanding what we have."

"Men like me … only me?" A short laugh escaped Kellerman's mouth, before his voice darkened. "Like you're so different. I think a good look at what's constituted your life so far is in order."

Kellerman hesitated as Jack shifted away from him and glowered out the window, all but giving away that his attention was caught.

"You and I both know what sets apart men like us," Kellerman continued. "Alex, too. Our jobs irreversibly affect who we are. We become defined by nothing more than what we're ordered to do. So no matter how hard you try to convince me and yourself that you can put Audrey above everything else, you were always a killer first. I know you better than she does. Don't blame me for wanting to keep you away from her."

There was silence as Jack started to defend himself, before angrily choosing to refrain. He folded his arms and sank in his seat, the last two or three days he'd gone without sleep finally catching up with him.

"Wake me when we get to the city," he muttered, eyes already half-closed.

"If you don't want to talk about Audrey, at least show enough respect to tell me what information your girlfriend phoned in with."

Jack considered the query for a moment, before clearing his throat and shrugging with his good shoulder.

"Nothing important."

Throwing a glare at his companion to demonstrate the sizeable degree he hadn't been fooled, Kellerman's smirk grew rueful. He didn't pursue the subject, however.

The darkening horizon visible to Jack from his cramped position seemed to match the unease that was slowly seeping through him at Kellerman's words.

Though there had been a time in the past when he'd given up on ever returning home, what little hope he'd clung to had never matched what was happening now. He'd never expected to be thrown into the Company firing line so quickly. And because of that foolish naivety, Mahone was on a path to self-destruction, and Audrey was in hiding with a felon and a drug addict.

Drifting further into a broken sleep, Jack wondered whether the curse that was his life would ever end.

* * *

"When you said 'Baltimore', I presumed you had an address already. Not a lack of clues enough for us to risk showing your face to complete strangers while we question them."

Jack kept a stoic face as he and Kellerman exited their car and headed towards the diner entrance. While he certainly hadn't grown more accommodating of Kellerman's insolence, the energy he needed to argue back had dwindled to nothing.

"Kim only gave away that Mahone was in this general area," he replied at last, following Kellerman through the diner doors. "Not his specific location. But you'd know the Company is discreet like that."

"Oh, funny, Jack. I needed a laugh at this point."

The diner was fairly crowded for mid-morning. The chatter and general ruckus that ebbed throughout it was enough for Jack and Kellerman to blend in and hold any scrutiny of themselves at bay. Jack diverted Kellerman's attention from the television on the wall above the counter to an exhausted-looking waitress hanging up an apron in the corner. Kellerman mouthed a question in return.

Shaking his head, Jack turned and made for the girl, prompting Kellerman to follow reluctantly. Jack pulled out his ID as she caught his approach and blinked at him with large brown eyes.

"FBI, mam," Jack said, closing his wallet quickly before a closer inspection could be made. "You've been working shift here for a while now."

"Yeah." The waitress narrowed her eyes, flicking her gaze between Jack and Kellerman before she went on. "Ten hours since midnight. Nothing wrong with that."

"Of course not. But we received a witness statement a short time ago that a man named Alexander Mahone dropped in here earlier this morning. We'd like to know if he said anything, or gave any indication at all, about where he might be heading next."

Kellerman ambled up beside Jack as the waitress knitted her brow together, thinking hard.

"He'd be tall, very unhealthy looking, gaunt even," the ex-Secret Service agent went on, grimacing a little as Jack shot an apprehensive look at him. "Possibly delusional, to add to that. He's a risk to himself and to others, and we need to find him as soon as possible."

"Sure. You're talking about Mr. Hume's friend, right?"

Jack and Kellerman exchanged another look.

"Excuse me," Jack said, even as the name tugged at the corners of his memory. "Mr. Hume?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Christopher Hume." The waitress walked over to the counter and started to wipe it down with a rag, drawing Jack and Kellerman into closer proximity to the rest of the diner's patrons. "He's a bank manager. Lives a couple of blocks from here, on one of those fancy waterfronts, I think."

"Did Mahone say that's where he was headed?" Kellerman asked.

"Um, I guess. But he was pretty … out of it, you know? Like you said. I think he was hallucinating."

"Did he mention why he was visiting Mr. Hume?"

"Nope." Running the dirty cloth under a tap and squeezing it dry, the waitress wiped her hands down and emerged from behind the counter. "To be honest, guys, I thought he was a junkie who was about to hold the diner up, so I wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying. Now my hour is up, and I'd like to go home, if that's alright with you."

"Sure."

Kellerman moved aside, allowing the cranky girl to sweep past him and out the diner exit. He watched her disappear onto the bustling sidewalk, misgivings stewing under the surface, before he pivoted around to Jack.

"Time to find our Mr. C. Hume," he murmured, placing a hand on Jack's shoulder as the man stood staring up at the diner TV, transfixed.

When Jack continued to not respond, Kellerman glanced up at the television as well. An anchorman was reporting on the launch of the Los Angeles branch of a major hotel chain. A stock photo of James Heller was on display, and the anchorman was reiterating the news that he was to attend the hotel's opening ceremony in his first public appearance since being appointed President.

"Sunset Ridge Hotel," Jack said to himself.

Raising an eyebrow at the look of horror on Jack's face, Kellerman steered him away from the counter and out through the diner doors.

"Now is not the time to become preoccupied with my uncle's Presidential curriculum," he lectured, walking Jack to their car. "We need to find Bill Kim, and for that, we need to find Christopher Hume. So let's be focused about this."

"Bill Kim is rendezvousing with his superior at Sunset Ridge in two days."

Kellerman went still as Jack entered the car and fished his bag out from the back seat. Getting over his mild shock and climbing into the driver's seat, Kellerman removed his sunglasses as Jack looked up Hume's address on his PDA.

"You wouldn't know Kim was headed there unless O'Brian told you before," he surmised in a quiet voice.

"I didn't think it was important at the time – and frankly, I've only been back in the country for a week. I had no way of knowing how significant Sunset Ridge was."

"Well, clearly it's jumped a little higher on your priority list now that you think Bill Kim works under my uncle's orders. And that is insane. Unless the Chinese tortured away your memories of what he went through to bring down President Logan – he drove his car off a cliff, just for a start – then you know there is no possible way he is Company."

"And I suppose the fact his nephew is Company … is supposed to reinforce that?" Jack snapped, not looking up from his PDA.

"I was Secret Service, and I get it, Jack. I really do. You think because Heller didn't try hard enough to spring you from China, that somehow, he has to be involved with the people who got you there in the first place."

Jack kept the scarred hand holding his PDA in place as it began to tremble with rage.

"You think I'm accusing the President of the United States of a massive cover-up because of a personal grudge?"

"I think you're being unreasonable. Bill Kim has only ever directly worked under the heads of the Company, and the President." Kellerman caught himself as Jack rolled his eyes. "Worked under the President, I mean. Under Caroline Reynolds. And she wasn't even loyal to the Company – she only used them as a stepping stone to power. My uncle never did anything to indicate he was complicit with them like she was."

Jack brought up Hume's listing and memorised the address, remaining silent.

"I'm going to take your dumbness as a sign of agreement."

"452 Oldfield Road," said Jack, waving out at the road with his PDA-free hand. "Hume's place. Let's go."

"No, I am done with this!"

Starting at the first display of outright anger he'd ever witnessed from Kellerman, Jack lowered his hand and finally met his companion's eyes. Kellerman was even more unsettling when he was furious, and at that moment, he was projecting pure rage.

"Are you that stupid?" Kellerman continued in a low hiss. "By the time we get to Hume, Kim will be gone. He will be heading to LA, as will the President, and there is no doubt that that is not a happy coincidence. If you'd told me about Sunset Ridge before, we could've been half way to California by now, but instead we're heading towards a dead end. Now you need to decide what's more important – the President's life, or Mahone's. And one of them is already dead."

"That's not how I see it. But I'm sure if you head down to LA and try to infiltrate the ceremony by yourself, the Company won't take you out immediately."

Kellerman deflated slightly at Jack's reply. It took him a while to swallow back the urge to storm out of the vehicle and carjack his own transportation. Starting the engine instead, he snatched the PDA from Jack and studied the map on the screen.

"Why is saving James Heller so important to you?" Jack asked quietly, leaning back in his seat as Kellerman steered their car onto the road. "He never mentioned you to me once."

"Maybe you were never as close to him as you thought," muttered Kellerman. "And however he feels about me, he's still family. But what makes less sense? That you're so bent on saving Mahone. You know him less than I do."

Jack stared out at the road with hollow eyes as Kellerman ran a red light. A thousand answers swam through his head until it began to feel dizzy.

Picking the easiest response, he whispered, "I have to believe men like us … that we can be saved. Because if Alex is nothing more than a lost cause, then you've been right all along. And everyone would have been better off if I'd died in China."

"The Company has that effect on people," Kellerman replied bitterly.

By the time they reached Christopher Hume's address, Jack had begun to doubt he was taking the right course of action. It wasn't until they arrived on the street, and a blonde woman leaning against the hood of a black BMW came into view, that he snapped out of his self-doubt.

"Keep driving," he ordered Kellerman.

"Already on it."

Jack peered at Kellerman in surprise, hiding his face from the car window at the same time as they drove past the woman. He gathered his thoughts as Kellerman parked on the curb of the adjacent street.

"Yes, I recognise her," Kellerman said, loading a clip with bullets and slamming the round into his pistol. "Her name's Rachel Cullins. She joined the Company three years ago – I worked with her once."

"Only three years?" asked Jack, pulling a semiautomatic from his bag and stepping out of the car alongside Kellerman.

"Yeah." Kellerman twisted his head around to Jack as they approached Hume's street. "You know her."

"I just have a feeling I did once. There's something familiar about her, I don't … she's gone."

Jack broke off as they stepped around the corner. Not even needing to squint at the BMW to see that Jack was right, Kellerman let out an exasperated sigh, adjusting the aviators on his nose.

"She saw us."

"Or she went back inside," Jack rebutted. "I'm not leaving Alex to die."

Kellerman swore to himself as Jack made his way across the street and towards the mansion. Rotating his line of sight around at the surrounding houses, he hurried after Jack, making sure that they hadn't drawn even more attention than what two fugitives running point on a suburban street could expect.

Jack tilted his head at a gate that led through to the mansion's backyard as Kellerman joined him.

"If you go around the back, we might be able to get a better handle on the situation," he said, wiping his hunting knife down with a shirt sleeve before tucking it into the front pocket of his bag. "I'll try to create a diversion."

"How?"

Turning back to Kellerman with a condescending stare, Jack replied, "I thought kicking the door down and opening fire might be a start."

The sound of gunfire cast Jack's next words aside. He spun along with Kellerman towards the mansion, and after a fraction of a pause, sprinted towards the building.

He'd barely reached the driveway when the front door flew open. A masked figure emerged from the house, and Jack lowered his weapon by reflex as he recognised the unconscious man slung over the person's back as Mahone.

"Hold your fire!" he barked as Kellerman took aim beside him.

The masked stranger – a man, by the looks of it – caught onto their presence immediately. He raised an Uzi with his free hand and, without hesitating, pulled down on the trigger.

Jack didn't need to think twice. He dove behind a van parked on the curb as a hailstorm of bullets rained down on him. The only thing audible over the din was the sound of Kellerman firing back from behind a large oak tree.

"Hold your fire!" Jack roared at Kellerman again, even as his voice was drowned out by the firestorm.

The shots on the other side of the fight ceased, and Jack managed to make out with his ringing ears the sound of car doors slamming. He darted out from behind the van.

The BMW he'd seen Rachel standing behind only minutes beforehand was currently screeching away down the road. Jack raised his weapon and made to shoot out the tyres, but quickly came to his senses and desisted. He rounded on Kellerman as the ex-Secret Service agent arrived behind him.

"Go back and get the car," he growled, climbing up towards the mansion's still open front door. "And remember – this is a residential area, not a war zone. Holster your weapon."

"As I remember it, Jack, I'm not your lackey," Kellerman replied, layering his response with an equal amount of derision. "Unless you're a precog who tasked a satellite on the getaway car before we even arrived in Baltimore, they're long gone. Alex is long gone. Whoever that was, clearly wasn't Kim, and he's the bastard we're here for. Now you can either get out of my way, or grow a few IQ points and help me."

Kellerman moved towards the mansion's side gate as Jack ran a hand over his face. Throwing a goading look back towards his companion, Kellerman stashed his gun into the waistband of his jeans, and climbed over the fence.

"Damn it."

The situation had already gone to hell, and it took Jack even less time to discern that Kellerman was right: the person who mattered most at the moment was Bill Kim. If he was still alive, he was the only one within reach who could tell them what was happening at Sunset Ridge. As well as put them back on a trail to Mahone's whereabouts.

Gun arm straight out in front of him, body instinctively set in a standard defensive position, Jack manoeuvred up to the mansion's front door. He eased the door further ajar, careful to ensure it didn't hit the wall, and stepped inside.

Light seemed to be reflecting off every surface. It was impossible to pinpoint one hiding spot, let alone cover it, but Jack was sure that if anyone was still left in the building, they wouldn't be the one with the element of surprise.

He soon got his answer as he neared the end of the front hall, and a smarm-laden voice floated in from the lounge. Inching just close enough so that he could hear what the man was saying, Jack also managed to make out muffled sobbing underneath the brazen words.

"… when he wakes up … I have no doubt it will, sir," the man was saying, the smugness on his face evident in his words. "I'll be needing a new vehicle … yes, and I'm still waiting on that clean-up crew. Thank you, sir."

Jack threw caution to the wind and draped an eye around the corner as the man snapped his cell shut. He had a slight build which was covered from head to toe in expensive clothes and shoes – without a doubt, he was Bill Kim. Galling Jack even more was the fact that Kim's shirt was almost completely drenched in blood, and yet he didn't appear to be in any pain at all.

He shelved a troubling thought as Kim pocketed his cell and withdrew a handgun from his jacket. Noticing for the first time the position of the other man present in the room, kneeling with his face towards a plasma TV screen and his hands cuffed behind his back, Jack readied his own gun and prepared to move in.

"As I see it, Mr. Hume, dying like this isn't so bad," Kim said, stepping up behind the man with his gun raised. "The country will think you went out a hero, protecting your family from your brother. And you can go to your grave content with the knowledge that even though you turned him in, Alex still didn't have the heart to kill you."

Jack segued into the scene, jaw set and eyes bright with fury.

"Bill Kim!" he yelled. "Drop your weapon and put your hands where I can see them!"

Kim turned to face him. His cold black eyes flickered with recognition and fear in all of a microsecond, before he jerked his gun around and fired at Jack.

Moving too fast for Kim's aim, Jack ducked, unsheathed his hunting knife from his bag, and hurled it forward. Kim let out a howl of pain as the weapon lodged in his forearm, and he staggered backwards.

He managed to keep his grip on his gun, though. With a look of pure spite, he swung his pistol back towards Hume's neck. A gunshot went off as Jack raised his own too late.

Kim dropped his weapon, and collapsed to the floor along with it.

Getting to his feet, Jack caught sight of Kellerman as he advanced on the man he'd formerly taken orders from. An expression of vicious triumph was etched onto the ex-Secret Service agent's face, and if Kim had looked unsettled at Jack's appearance, it was nothing compared to the terror he wore now as Kellerman stood over him with his silencer aimed straight between his eyes.

"Not a good idea, Bill," drawled Kellerman, smashing a boot down on the shoulder he'd just shot as Kim tried to reach for his gun.

Kim's face twisted in agony as Kellerman dug deeper into his bullet wound. Holstering his gun, Jack kicked Kim's weapon out of reach and gestured for Kellerman to stop.

"Easy, Paul," he said, raising his hands. "We need him alive. Let him go."

Simmering hatred emanated from Kellerman's green eyes, before he relented and backed off. Nevertheless, as Jack bent to retrieve his hunting knife from Kim's arm, Kellerman raised his other foot and sent it into Kim's ribcage.

"What?" Kellerman shrugged, as Jack shot a warning glance up at him.

Grimacing, Jack turned back to Kim. Something else grabbed his attention as his hand went for his knife, however – the side that Kellerman had kicked seemed to have deflated beneath Kim's jacket.

Kim seemed to know he had been caught out. He tried to wrestle himself away from Jack, but Kellerman held him in place, and without caring to take heed of any of Kim's injuries, Jack shoved his hand inside the Company agent's jacket.

He felt plastic intermingled with something liquid. Tugging on the material, Jack pulled out a small plastic bag that had burst open, though it was still half full with crimson fluid. His mouth set in a snarl as he realised what it was.

"Son of a bitch!"

Tossing the bag aside, Jack pulled Kim to his feet and slammed him against the wall so hard that the agent's head whipped back against a painting hanging there, leaving a dent in the canvas.

"Why would you fake being shot in front of Mahone?" Jack shouted, getting right up into Kim's face. "Who the hell just drove off with him? Where's Cullins? What the hell is going down at Sunset Ridge in two days?"

Kim bared his teeth in a wide smirk, chest heaving as he attempted to laugh through Jack's chokehold.

"She's gone," he hissed, spitting a chunk of blood onto the white-tiled floor. "And … ask your precious ex-boss. You're too late."

"You're eliminating Heller, is that it?"

When Kim turned his head to the side, ignoring the question, a sudden insanity seized Jack. He grabbed the blade of the knife embedded in Kim's arm and twisted, eliciting a blood-curdling scream.

"I will kill you, you son of a bitch, but it'll be days before the pain ends," breathed Jack, wrenching the knife around so far that Kim's eyes began to roll into the back of his head. "And if you think this is the worst I can do, you don't know me very well. Start talking!"

Kellerman displayed no signs of disturbance as he stepped up next to Jack. Holding the butt end of his silencer up, he flattened it against Kim's shoulder wound as Jack pulled out his hunting knife and held the bloody tip against Kim's palm.

Kim finally bellowed at them to stop.

"There's an opening of a Brackenridge hotel named Sunset Ridge … in downtown Los Angeles … this Thursday," he choked out, gasping for breath and clutching his arm after Jack and Kellerman had released him. "The President … is speaking there … for the press conference … at noon."

"We know that already," Jack said abruptly, holding the barrel of his gun up in plain sight. "What does the Company want with him?"

"The same thing we wanted from David Palmer. His corpse."

A low roar emerged from the depths of Jack's throat, and he pulled the hammer of his pistol back, the last thing left on his mind coming to the forefront. Kellerman stepped between him and Kim, however, face stern.

"We need him alive," he said, echoing Jack even as his expression indicated he couldn't care less about Kim's fate.

Coming to his senses a lot quicker than the last time he'd held someone responsible for David Palmer's death at gunpoint, Jack spun away in frustration. As he shoved an ottoman out of his way, he remembered that there was another man in the room as he came face to face with Hume, who had gotten to his feet.

Hume's bruised face was aghast in response to the brutality he'd just witnessed. He backed up a few paces as he met eyes with Jack.

"Who are you people?" he asked tremulously.

"We came here looking for your brother," Jack explained, the words coming out with relative ease considering Hume resembled Mahone to an almost eerie extent. "Don't worry. We're here to help."

"I would hope," replied Hume, whipping his glasses from his face and cleaning them with a cloth from his pocket. He watched nervously as Kellerman dragged Kim to the sofa, cuffing both of the Company agent's hands to the coffee table.

Kellerman dialled a number on Kim's cell by rote.

"Tell Julie you've decided to dispose of Hume's body by yourself," he ordered, clamping the phone against Kim's ear. "Then call off the clean-up crew."

"They'll never fall for it."

"Well, they'll be recovering at least one dead body if you don't try anyway."

"Daddy?"

All four men in the lounge pivoted their heads around as a young girl's voice drifted in from the front hall. At the same time, Kim coughed, glanced nervously at Kellerman, and began to reiterate Kellerman's instructions to Julie over the phone.

Hume creased his brow at Jack, before heading out to his daughter. Jack followed, no longer capable of trusting even the most innocent-sounding civilians.

"Daddy!" the young girl cried, running into her father's arms as he entered the front hall. "I went to the pay phone and called the number like you taught me, but I couldn't leave you alone with the bad man. And he hurt you!"

Her hazel eyes widened as she took in Hume's swollen and bloody face, and promptly began to cry.

"No, sweetie, no, he wasn't a bad man, and he didn't do this to me. It's going to be alright."

The girl wiped her face with tiny fists, and glared up at Jack over her father's shoulder.

"Who is he?" she asked, clinging more protectively to her father as she spotted the blood on Jack's hands.

Hume stood up and faced Jack, who hid his hands behind his back, ashamed of himself.

"He's the police you called, Mandy," said Hume, sweeping his daughter up into his arms as Jack nodded towards the staircase, clearly instructing him to get her as far away from Kim's interrogation as possible.

"He's a cop?" asked the girl, giggling as her father pulled faces at her while bouncing up the steps.

"Sure he is. And he rides a submarine to work every day …"

Hume's voice faded away on the upper floor. It took Jack a few minutes to process that he was standing in the middle of the front hall, listening after Hume with an intense wistfulness. Breaking out of his reverie, he retreated to the lounge.

Kim had finished his call to the Company, and was now staring resolutely into the distance as Kellerman grilled him.

"Is the assassin rogue, or undercover?" Kellerman asked, seating himself adjacent to the sofa, a practiced look of murderous calm in his eyes. "Give me a name. Aliases. Credentials. Times."

"I don't know the specifics."

"You're lying," said Jack, drawing a glance from Kellerman as he crossed the floor to where Kim sat. "You know everything. Stop stalling for time!"

"Why would I lie?" Kim gritted, as Jack took hold of his free arm and wrenched it behind his back.

"Your reputation precedes you."

"Torture me all you want, I don't know …"

Jack gripped Kim's middle and second finger and pulled them clean out of their bone sockets. Before Kim's resulting scream could reach the ears of anyone upstairs, Jack gagged his mouth with the cloth Hume had dropped on the ground.

"You have eight of those left, Kim," remarked Jack, not letting go of the writhing man. "And then there's your toes. I'll break every one of them, and then I'll cut them off, and then we'll see how much force it takes to dislocate each of your shoulders, and then I think we'll move onto your kneecaps …"

A moan cut in through Jack's words, and he turned back to Kim. The Company agent was nodding furiously at him. Kellerman kept his gun trained on Kim as Jack removed the gag from his mouth.

"I don't know the specifics," Kim repeated hastily, hyperventilating now. "But I know who the Company's tasked for the job."

"Who?"

Kim opened his mouth to say the name, but a shadow fell over his face, and he stopped. Clearly, a bigger threat than the two supremely pissed off ex-government agents who so far had demonstrated no qualms about killing him was holding his tongue.

Jack grabbed Kim by the neck and slammed his head down onto the coffee table, breaking his nose.

"Who is it?" he roared, wrenching Kellerman's gun out of his grip and grinding it into Kim's throat.

"Who do you think it is, Bauer?"

The venomous words, confirming Jack's worst fears, loosened the grip he had on Kellerman's weapon. He got a hold of himself, however, and snapped right back into a rejoinder.

"Why him?" he demanded, standing back and allowing Kim to sit up. "Was this the plan all along? Set him up so that everyone thinks he's out of his mind enough to assassinate President Heller?"

"He didn't need us to tell him to murder Shales. You know he's already psychotic enough to do something as far-fetched as killing the President." A smirk crossed Kim's face even as he gingerly felt his broken nose. "You know because he's just like you. You're both insane."

"You're a dead man."

Jack's finger latched around the trigger, but he caught himself before he fired. His hand shook, and it took all of his strength to pry the gun away from the back of Kim's skull.

"Do it."

The icy voice diverted Jack's attention to Kellerman, whose eyes – full of pent-up loathing and murder – were focused on Kim. When Kellerman realised that Jack was too conflicted to go through with it, he leapt to his feet, getting into Jack's personal space.

"The man erased my identity and tried to hunt me down," Kellerman said in an almost soothing voice. "He had Alex's wife killed. He shipped you off to China. He has no more useful information …"

"I do," insisted Kim, squeezing his eyes shut as he sensed that Jack was moving in for the kill.

"… do it," continued Kellerman in a louder voice. "Kill him. Do it, Jack!"

The two separate accusations made in the last half day about his dwindling humanity still fresh in mind, Jack stepped forward, eyes tight with resolve.

Without blinking, he pulled the gun away from Kim's head. Before Kellerman could protest, he followed the retraction by bringing his elbow down onto the back of Kim's neck, knocking him out.

"Pathetic," Kellerman muttered, rolling his eyes as Jack flopped Kim back onto the sofa and searched his limp body for any additional weapons. "Of all the people who'd want to do it, I thought you would …"

"Do what? Decide that he's better off in the ground rather than rotting in prison? I'm not a machine, Paul."

"You certainly remembered how to bring the pain like one."

"Excuse me," a mild voice broke in from the lounge entrance. "I was wondering if it was safe for me to call my wife. I just … oh."

Hume stopped short as the result of Jack and Kellerman's handiwork came into view. He remained hovering a few feet away, more or less paralysed by his repugnance of what had just occurred in his lounge room.

"Give me the car keys," Jack said to Kellerman, straightening up from Kim's prone figure and wiping his bloody hands on his pants.

Kellerman complied, and Jack strode over to Hume, who shrank back a little.

"You can't contact anyone until you follow my instructions," Jack began, holding the keys out. "The Company believes you're dead, and you and your family have to go into hiding to be sure you'll be safe."

Hume took the keys with a negative amount of enthusiasm. "What's this?"

"There's a grey rental car parked around the corner of this block. Take your daughter, pack only what you need, and drive straight –" Jack finished writing on a scrap of paper and handed it over "– to this address. It's CTU Baltimore. When you get there, ask for an agent named Curtis Manning. He told me a week ago that he was on loan there – he's a good friend of mine, I trust him. Tell him everything. He'll make sure you're kept safe."

"What about my wife?"

"Give Curtis her location. He'll send a team to pick her up." Jack grabbed Hume by the arm as he nodded and turned, more than happy to get out from under Kellerman's blank gaze. "Wait. I need your car keys. We'll drive out first. If the Company's watching this place, they'll follow us, and you'll be clear to go."

"Sure."

Hume scrambled around in his pockets until he found his keys. His brow furrowed as he passed them on to Jack, and he tilted his head to the side, peering at Kim's slumped body on his sofa.

"Is he … uh – is he still alive?" Hume asked, looking for the most part like he didn't want to know the answer.

"Yes, he's still alive," replied Jack, tossing the keys over to Kellerman and nodding towards the garage door.

"What about my brother?"

Jack responded with a mere frown as he gathered his bag up from the floor, and Hume's face fell. He stepped in line with Jack, following Kellerman out towards the garage.

"If you find him," Hume started, wringing his hands together, "tell him I'm so sorry for everything. And that I'd like to start over again. That … I want him in my life again. In my family's life."

Discarding his thoughts about his own brother, Jack halted at the exit to the garage and met Hume's despairing eyes.

"I give you my word, when this is over, you can tell him that yourself," he promised. "You will have Alex back."

Hume's gaze wavered. "He won't be a free man, will he?"

The crushed expression on the other man's face made Jack glance downwards.

"You should go back and get your daughter ready," he replied, folding the pouch of his bag over and sealing it shut.

The answer to his question all but clear, Hume nodded, his bottom lip trembling. Turning around without another word, he stalked up the staircase and out of sight.

Jack sighed inwardly. Entering the garage and climbing into the passenger seat of Hume's Mercedes, punching numbers into his cell all the while, he chastised himself for not thinking sooner about what he would do with Mahone once the threat of the Company was extinguished.

He wasn't sure whether his indecision was related to his doubts that the Company could ever fully be brought to its knees, or his own misgivings about placing Mahone behind bars after everything he'd been through.

"Bill," he said, as Kellerman sped the car away from Hume's driveway. "It's Jack. I'm in Baltimore."

To say the least, Bill wasn't happy.

"Baltimore? What the hell are you doing there, Jack? You told me at the start of all this that you'd check in twice a day. My office is getting swamped with inquiries from twelve different departments, the White House, and the media, but the least I expected was to have a handle on what you were up to at all times!"

"I know. It's complicated. Listen, Bill – I need help getting two seats on the next available flight to LA."

As Bill went berserk on the other end, Jack peered into the rearview mirror. Making sure there weren't any spotters following behind, he began to explain everything that had happened since they'd last talked. His friend muttered softly upon hearing that Mahone was missing, and outright swore when Jack brought up Kellerman.

He grew quieter when Jack imparted the news that a key member of the Company was currently restrained inside Hume's house, however, and went completely mute when he dropped the President's name.

"Why didn't you tell me James Heller was Vice-President to Reynolds?" Jack asked, not wanting to hedge around the question.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line in response to Jack's blunt question, which only exacerbated his aggravation.

Finally, Bill replied, "I was on a time limit back then. I had more important things to divulge to you before Mahone entered the scene."

"How involved is the President with the Company?"

"He isn't."

Jack gave a mirthless laugh as the pieces and fragments of the Company's plan finally came together.

"The President has been kept in the dark about the Company's existence for his own protection," Bill continued. "And so far it appears they haven't made a move to bring him into the fold."

"I think you were wrong. Bill, I need you to get me into contact with Karen before she arrives in LA."

Another pause. "How did you know she was flying out to LA?"

"I didn't. The Company did." Jack ran a hand over his face, exhaustion beginning to take hold as Kellerman shot an apprehensive look in his direction. "The Company has something planned, two days from now at noon, at the opening of a hotel called Sunset Ridge. I need to warn the President, and for that, I need Karen. She's the only one close enough to the President who we can trust not to bury the message."

"If you're hypothesising what I think you are, dragging her into this will only make her a target."

"Do you think she'd want you to stand aside and let the Company assassinate Heller?" snapped Jack. "I cannot do this on my own, Bill. The last thing I want is Karen to get hurt, but I need her help."

Bill gave a frustrated sigh, which was all Jack needed to come to a deeper understanding of just how close his friend and Karen had become during his time in China.

"I'll contact her on a secure line," Bill said at last. "But I can't guarantee anything."

Jack thanked Bill as Kellerman coughed at him, pointing to a road sign that showed they were only a few miles out from the airport.

"Just get to her as soon as you can," Jack continued through the phone, throwing his bag strap over his shoulders. "If the Company manages to get to the President first, there's no telling who they'll replace him with. And by that point, dismantling them will be out of the question."

"Who's the Company's hit man?" Bill asked, voice terse.

A sigh escaping his lips, Jack ran a hand through his hair, knowing with absolutely certainty that his suspicions were correct.

"It's Alex," he replied, heart sinking. "It's Alex, Bill. And he has no idea what he's getting himself into."


	13. Say Goodbye

_Chapter 13: Say Goodbye_

* * *

Mahone had never executed a man with a silenced pistol before.

The repulsive thought came to him as he adjusted the gun's aim from his brother's chest to the space between his petrified eyes. Though he had been in a position such as this countless times before – albeit, never with another gun to his head – he had always found performing such a final act in such a pedestrian way to be nothing short of insulting, no matter who was on the receiving end.

It had taken him a long time to realise that his elevated concern over how to carry out his orders, as opposed to the integrity of those orders in the first place, just might be a sign that Division 5 had impaired his mental state for the worse.

Kim made an impatient noise in the back of his throat as silence continued to permeate the air. Chris shifted in his seat, squeezing his hands together despite the movement causing the handcuffs around his wrists to bite even harder into his flesh.

"If you do it, Alex, I won't blame you."

"Cut the noble act," Kim sneered, his eyes flicking up from his wristwatch. "Alex is perfectly capable of deciding on his own whether or not he wants to be a coward about this."

"We all know who the real coward here is."

"Oh, an eschewer of the non-obvious. That's cute."

"Would you prefer it if I started lying over a gun held on me by my brother?"

"I've seen men do more pathetic things when faced with their own deaths."

There was an abrupt, metallic clatter, and Kim and Chris broke off their argument to see that Mahone's weapon had dropped onto the white-tiled floor. Mahone lowered his arm to his side as Chris stared, half thankful that his brother hadn't gone through with it, and half horrified that they both now were consigned to the same fate.

Kim was thinking along the same lines with far more relish. A chuckle fell from his lips as he gathered Mahone's gun up and backed away a few steps.

"I want to thank you, Alex. For proving right all the times I reminded the General how strong a brother's commitment can be." Kim lashed a foot out at the back of Mahone's knees, sending him to the ground. "You know, he's decided to keep Scofield alive. Because Scofield reminds him so much of you. But I keep telling him, it's that familial bond, that weakness, that brings you both down. That makes you less than the soldiers the Company needs."

Transferring his gun's aim away from Mahone, Kim gestured at Chris to join his brother on the floor. Mahone's blank expression transitioned into one of despair as Chris moved next to him, awkwardly getting to his knees with his hands still behind his back.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice hitching.

"But you weren't the one who led them straight here," Chris murmured back, a tiny smile melded together by pain and regret on his face. "For what it's worth, I love you."

Mahone met his brother's eyes. The acceptance and solicitude he'd longed for from Chris for so long was plain to see, and he cursed himself for all of the times he'd ignored Pam's insistence that he get over his fear of rejection and contact him.

His breath quickened as he heard Kim pull the slide back on his pistol, and he replied at last, "Me, too."

Death didn't terrify Mahone. He had faced it too many times to give a damn anymore. The thrill of adrenaline that shot through him as he felt the barrel of Kim's gun press into his skull was two-fold, however – his prevailing thought being that Chris had lived a life that didn't deserve to end here.

The darker sentiment running undercurrent was that he felt nothing but relief at the prospect of his own death.

"For what it's worth, Alex," said Kim in a mocking voice, "this country owes you a great debt. You've sustained the uniting force that will save it from economic and social collapse. It's too bad you've always allowed your guilt to get in the way of seeing how much good you've done."

Mahone didn't reply, intensely scrutinising the distance between himself and Kim in the glass reflection of the TV screen in front of him.

"And by the way. There's something else you should know …"

The sound of the front door opening cut in through Kim's words. He paused, an odd expression on his face, before turning away from Mahone to call out to the person approaching from the entrance hall.

"Cullins, I thought I told you to wait outside."

Mahone knew a final opportunity better than anyone, and he took it. Twisting around with all of the agility a man half-inebriated by drug withdrawal could manage, he clamped both hands over Kim's weapon and pulled, attempting to throw him over his shoulder.

Kim had seen it coming, though. Utilising his elevated position, he smashed his knee into Mahone's face. The gun slipped out of Mahone's grasp, and he collapsed onto his back, groaning.

He shared a horrified glance with Chris as Kim re-trained the gun onto his forehead with furious eyes.

"Your son won't enjoy any leniency from us now," the Company agent hissed, squeezing down on the trigger.

"No!"

Chris' scream was drowned out by a sudden burst of machine gun fire. Acting on instinct, Mahone threw himself over his brother as Kim was blasted backwards into the wall. He watched uncomprehendingly as Kim slid to the floor, blood splattered over his shirt.

There was a flash of movement in the corner of Mahone's eye. He brought his elbow back into the balaclava-clad face without thinking, and a male voice swore underneath the sick crunching noise that followed.

Mahone leapt to his feet, shielding his brother with his body as he raised his fists. The other man recovered quickly from the blow to his face, and pivoted forward again. Shunting to the side, Mahone blocked a kick to his abdomen, landing a punch to the stranger's jaw at the same time.

The man dodged his other fist, however. In an unnatural display of athleticism, he grabbed Mahone by the shoulders, kicked back from the wall, and flipped his entire body around in a semi-circle, switching sides. Mahone's reactions jammed as he spun to meet the man's graceful descent through the air.

He recognised the stranger's movements. But there was no way it could be him.

Caught off guard, Mahone had no answer as the man used the momentum of his landing to knock his feet out from under him. The back of his already injured head smacked against the edge of the coffee table as he fell. White light flashed before him, and a dead weight forced itself against his chest, causing him to sink further into the ground.

The last thing he saw was his assailant's unmistakable sepia-toned eyes as he was slung over his shoulder. He lost consciousness to the sound of his brother screaming out his name.

* * *

A door banged shut in the distance, waking Mahone up with all of the subtlety of a wrench to the face.

His head pounded as light streamed into his bloodshot eyes. The room he was in was otherwise dark. It took him a while to realise that a table lamp in the corner was reflecting off a pair of handcuffs secured around his left wrist.

Startled, he jerked upright, and promptly winced along with the pain that tore through his arm. He reached around with his other hand as he recalled what had happened to get him here, the gravity of his situation hitting home. One tug was all that was necessary to confirm that he'd been restrained to the bed he was lying on.

Quiet footsteps emanated through the door in front of him. Giving up on freeing himself from the cuffs, he cast an urgent look around the room. He spotted the jacket that had been removed from his shoulders lying draped over a chair, partially covering a gun holster which sheltered a weapon that didn't belong to him.

Both were well out of reach. It didn't stop him from trying, anyway.

"You're good, Alex, but you're not that good," a male voice murmured. "Calm down."

Mahone slowly returned his gaze to the doorway. Leaning against the wooden barrier, a worried crease etched into his handsome features, was a ghost. The man raised his hands as Mahone edged away, horror washing over his face.

"Let's not act rash," the man began, tone level.

Mahone climbed to his feet, placing the bed between them as he whispered, "You're not real."

"Alex, listen to me," the man said, his expression fierce. "Everything you think happened that day … didn't …"

"Factory explosion. 10 years ago. Glasgow!" yelled Mahone over the top of him, grasping for the table lamp and holding it out in front of him. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you are not Ryan Kingswood!"

"If you think I'm an hallucination, why are you threatening me? I saw it before, you recognised me even when I had the mask over my face. You know it's me."

Mahone swallowed a dry lump in his throat as Ryan stepped closer, moving as though he was approaching a trapped tiger.

"Ask me a question, ask me anything. I'll prove it to you."

"Where's my brother?"

Ryan stopped, the faintest trace of a smile on his mouth. "Try again."

"You attacked us, you son of a bitch – where is he?" Mahone snarled, hurling the lamp onto the ground.

Ryan narrowly avoided the flying ceramic. "More Company arrived before I could get to him."

The imperceptible alarm that had been seeping through Mahone since he'd woken up transformed into full-blown panic. He yanked at the handcuffs again, unable to think straight as a hundred possible images of Chris ripped through his mind.

"We have to go back," he said frantically.

"Whoa, whoa, relax." Ryan hurried around to the other side of the bed, grabbing Mahone's arm before he could hurt himself even more. "There's nothing we can do."

Mahone brought his head down on Ryan's before he could react, catching him directly on the bridge of his nose. Ignoring the blinding pain that mirrored itself in Ryan's contorted face, he grabbed his lost friend around the throat and slammed him against the wall. Pulling the sleeve of Ryan's coat up, he found a thick scar seared into his right arm like a particularly terrible birthmark.

Ryan let out a hacking cough as he was released, punctuating the silence that hung between them both as Mahone pulled away, eyes haunted.

"Hard to fake a butcher knife," Ryan finally said.

"Christ."

"I can explain everything."

"Why don't you start by telling me whose body I retrieved while the entire building was falling around my ears!" Mahone spun away and kicked the bedside drawer, effectively silencing Ryan before he could reply. "Or who I flew home with? I grieved for you every day afterwards, and you didn't trust me enough to come out from hiding. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you're incapable of telling the truth at this point."

"Alex …"

"Shut up! Just shut up. Get these things off me and take me to Chris, or I swear to God they won't even be able to bury you."

Mahone brushed a temple with his uncuffed hand, another headache fermenting. The other man gave an exasperated sigh.

"Will you listen to me?" Ryan blasted. "Use that brain of yours. I barely managed to get out from a two-man incursion, what do you think they did to your brother when they found him?"

"No, he's gone when I see an autopsy report that wasn't commissioned by Hable." Mahone lowered his voice, sinking back onto the bed. "I don't need a lesson about that when there's living proof right here."

Ryan had never spared time for emotions. It had always been the trait that Mahone envied – his friend's ability to shut out everything in circumstances when coldness served all of the advantages. The only time Mahone could recall when Ryan's stoic facade had slipped was nine months after they had been recruited into Division 5.

The General had ordered them to assassinate a high-ranking British officer – their seventh black ops mission together. They hadn't been offered an explanation, and by that time, they'd learnt not to question their directives.

Under the guise of a week-long patrol round, Ryan had worked reconnaissance on their target while Mahone had drawn up a strike plan. Before they'd managed to put it into action, however, an Iraqi unit had captured them and, over the course of the following two months, tortured them for security details about Division 5.

The endless hours of pain had bled together for Mahone, to the point where he now hardly remembered what had been inflicted on him. The one thing that stood vivid was a moment two weeks before a Egyptian squadron had taken out their captors and rescued them.

After insisting for weeks that maintaining their silence was the only way to keep them alive, Ryan had snapped at Mahone when he'd mentioned Pam, yelling at him to wake up and realise that the General wasn't sending anyone to retrieve them, and that they were more or less dead.

Mahone – already on mental tenterhooks – had folded into a catatonic state. It had taken Ryan a while to recover him from the idea that the organisation they were protecting had in turn abandoned them, and that as a result, any hope of a reunion with Pam had been eviscerated.

It was one of the main reasons why Mahone had cut all ties with Division 5 and thrown himself into his FBI career after Ryan had died.

The crestfallen look that had passed across Ryan's face the night when Mahone had broken down was present again, hovering beneath the surface as he took up a seat next to his friend on the bed. He clasped his hands together, entwining his forefingers and thumb in a mannerism that was painfully familiar to Mahone. Neither of them looked at the other.

"Your brother's dead, Alex," said Ryan at last.

A hoarse laugh escaped Mahone. "And subtlety as well, I'm guessing."

Ryan's expression grew clouded, and he turned away uncomfortably as Mahone buried his head in his hands. A shudder ran through Mahone's body as Ryan lifted a pair of keys from his coat pocket.

"We're in a hotel room a couple of miles out from a private airstrip," Ryan explained, voice sombre. "There's a jet flying out within the hour, and I need to be on it. Now I'm going to uncuff you. But I need your word that you'll stay here until I contact you again."

"I gave my family my word that I'd protect them," replied Mahone, watching Ryan release him from the cuffs. "Three times. I failed them."

Ryan's brow creased as he stood up straight again. "Your son's alive, actually. Protective custody in a Pocatello safehouse."

"What?" Mahone's head shot up, red-rimmed eyes following Ryan as he crossed the room and pulled a suitcase out from the cabinet. "You're telling me you know everything …"

"I know everything the Company's done to you, yeah," Ryan said, stuffing clothes and documents into his suitcase. "I couldn't let you in on anything because I've been working to bring them down all this time."

"You dump all this on me and then you just leave."

"Look, I wish I had the time to go over what's happened in the last 10 years. But right now you're on a need-to-know basis, and the more you do, the more likely it'll get you killed."

"What I don't know has jeopardised everything that I care about!" Mahone shouted, not failing to see that Ryan had whipped his gun holster out of reach before he could come closer. "I'd rather be dead than abandoned here without the chance to do anything about it."

"Trust me, you'll thank me afterwards."

"You can't do this to me, Ryan."

"It was the President, for fuck's sake!"

Ryan slammed his suitcase shut, stopping Mahone in his tracks. Wiping his mouth with the top of his hand, Ryan turned back to his friend, who looked even more confused and shocked than before.

"It was Heller," he continued. "Reynolds was the face of the Company, but Heller was the cog working the machine. When Reynolds didn't step up to the plate, he had her resign, and he took over for himself. That's what you're dealing with, Alex. That's why I have to get to Los Angeles now."

Mahone shook his head, trying to make sense of the news. "That's impossible."

"Because Jack Bauer is his number one fan?" A tiny sliver of a smirk crossed Ryan's face as Mahone's fell. "Yeah. I knew you weren't stupid enough to think it was anything less than a coincidence that a former CTU agent was assigned as your partner."

"Jack was investigating my connection to the Company. To have the person holding all of the Company strings task him with the job in the first place would be more than idiotic."

"Then maybe you're not as good at reading people as you used to be," Ryan said, hefting his suitcase up.

Mahone lifted his jacket from the chair and followed Ryan out of the bedroom towards the exit.

"What the hell is in LA that's so important?"

"There's an informant waiting for me who's planning to filch some intel from one of Heller's aides long enough for me to make a copy."

"I want to go with you."

"Do you realise how hard it was, checking a wanted man into this room?" Ryan snapped, rounding on Mahone. "If I could fly you across the country without anyone recognising you, I would. But all you can do right now is wait here until I find someplace safer for you to stay."

"Don't even consider that I'm spineless enough to go into hiding like someone else here did."

Ryan's eyes flashed. "Well, then I guess killing Shales and burying him in your backyard was worthy of a Congressional Medal by comparison!"

The barbed words came out far easier than they were digested. Mahone's jaw went slack, face growing distant, and his reaction only provoked Ryan more.

"You always hated it whenever I lied that everything'd be okay," he said impassively. "If this is what you want to hear – fine. The General's been waiting all this time for an excuse to use you again. That's why I went underground. I gave us both an out; I know you didn't want to be tied down with a corrupt power for the rest of your life. If Division 5 thought I was dead and that you were incapacitated, then they'd leave us alone. Everything I did to protect you … you threw away with one bullet."

"You're right."

Tears stung at Mahone's lids for a moment, before he squared his shoulders and looked up again. Striding over to Ryan, he took his friend's shoulders in his hands and peered dead on into his brown eyes.

"Before today, I got back a best friend and a son I thought I'd lost forever. Except Chris and Pam –" Ryan flinched, averting his gaze "– two people who I loved more than anything, who are dead because of me … and I know who's responsible, and you have the nerve to tell me that I can't do anything to stop him. I'm glad you're alive, Ryan – I'm goddamned thrilled. But if you don't allow me to help, I will make you give me permission to help."

An unreadable expression flitted across Ryan's features, before he burst out laughing. Mahone's hands twitched as he recoiled them. He briefly considered choking the taunting sounds out of Ryan's throat, and bit his lip in order to restrain himself from pummelling a year's worth of sense into his friend.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said instead, voice stony.

Ryan shifted his suitcase in his hands, his amusement dying. He made a strange movement with his neck and shoulder, rotating them around as though he was forcing himself to come to an awful decision.

"I've missed you, Alex," he replied at last.

"Is that a yes?"

Sighing heavily, Ryan nodded, and gestured at Mahone to follow him out of the hotel room. Striding down the hallway, Mahone catching up beside him, he began to outline the details of the grand opening of a Los Angeles hotel, which the President was scheduled to appear at the next day.

"But it's an intel drop only," Ryan warned, studying Mahone carefully as they halted in front of a row of elevators. "We get in, we meet my informant, we get out. That's it."

"Meaning what exactly?" asked Mahone, irritated by the worry on Ryan's face.

"Meaning I'm not the only one who remembers how dangerous you can be when you're stuck on revenge."

Mahone glared at his friend, the soft words of concern jilting him.

"If Bauer betrayed me, I'd rather see him burn along with Heller," he muttered, covering over his bitterness with a practiced iciness. "I learnt my lesson pretty well from Shales. I can control myself."

There was a pinging noise, and the elevator doors to their right opened. As if on cue, they both surveilled the area to check that they hadn't been recognised, before stepping inside the elevator.

"For the record," said Ryan, as he pressed the button for the ground floor, "you know I could kick your ass five times over again with my eyes closed, right?"

Mahone didn't return his friend's smile; however, a flicker of humour wavered in the depths of his pale blue eyes as the elevator doors closed on them.

"Sure you could."

* * *

Getting onto Ryan's private jet unhindered proved easier than Mahone had anticipated. Taking in the starkly luxurious furnishings of the cabin, he questioned the possibility of Ryan's financial situation being so generous when he was essentially dead.

"Not me," Ryan chuckled, settling down into a leather seat opposite Mahone. "Resistance. Organisation that's been in place for years, fighting the Company. Funds are diverted from various corporations with ties to government members – people in power who are … excessively altruistic and believe in a better cause, you could say."

"Because what could be better than a country free from sociopaths like Hable."

The corners of Ryan's mouth quirked. "You could be a stand-in for Aldo Burrows."

Mahone swallowed a surge of guilt. He'd been warned a long time ago about Lincoln and Michael's father – more or less placing a bullseye on the man's chest along with the Fox River cons – but he'd never explicitly set out to kill him. And though he didn't want to admit it, his murder of Burrows grated because Michael would always hold it against him; Michael, the person more than anyone who Mahone was desperate to prove his moral superiority to.

"Hey," said Ryan, jolting Mahone from his troubled musing. "You told me yourself, 15 years ago, that Mosul wasn't my fault. Things were out of your control with Burrows, too."

Mahone chewed his lip, staring out the window as their plane took off. Not fully expecting an answer, Ryan began to sort through a pile of paperwork that had been left out for him on the small cabin table separating him and Mahone.

"You've struggled against the Company all this time, and they're still as powerful as ever," Mahone said abruptly, visage distant. "This is never going to end, is it?"

"The valiant never taste of death but once," quoted Ryan, perusing a manila folder that appeared no more remarkable than the dozen others scattered in front of him.

"So cowards fight when they can fly no further," Mahone countered morosely. "So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons."

"We'll make it."

Mahone tore his eyes from the window, catching an uncertain look from Ryan that clashed with his confident proclamation. His friend smoothed his face over with a grin, however, and tossed the folder back onto the table.

"You've had a rough week," he understated, shedding his coat and folding it into a makeshift pillow. "I'm up for some sleep – you should be, too."

"Yeah," replied Mahone, eyeing the folders having clearly missed Ryan's entreaty.

"It's all just junk about Sunset Ridge. Schematics, names of those attending the conference – but you can go over it if you want," Ryan added, crossing his arms and adjusting himself into a more comfortable sleeping position.

"How did you know where to find me?" Mahone asked suddenly, his gaze meeting Ryan's. "At the exact time Kim was about to pull the trigger. How'd you know?"

There was a pause as Ryan cleared his throat. Mahone could sense a degree of cunning in the man's reaction, and he knew before Ryan opened his mouth that he wouldn't get the whole truth from his answer.

"Since you and Pam got married, I've been keeping tabs on her activities as well as yours. Just in case the Company ever thought to try and rein you back in." Ryan ran a hand over his bruised jaw. "Did you know that she met with your brother 7 months ago, in a diner off the highway near where he worked?"

Mahone kept his face placid, even as his heart clenched. "No. They never met."

"Well, they did once, and that's how I knew. When I heard you were in Baltimore, it didn't take much to figure out where you'd be." Mahone gave a stiff nod, and Ryan sat up a little straighter. "Alex … shit. That was harsh. If you want to talk about them … about either of them …"

"I don't," Mahone cut in, fetching his glasses from his jacket pocket and resting them on his nose. "Thanks."

Ryan stared as Mahone picked up a folder and began to rifle through its contents. Knowing the conversation was over, he sighed and sank back into his seat, closing his eyes. After a few minutes, the only sound echoing through the cabin was the ruffling of papers in Mahone's hands and the distant hum of the jet's engines.

Scanning over various documents which detailed Heller's upcoming visit to LA, Mahone's thoughts grew darker and darker. Taking particular interest in a newspaper article that named Jack as the man who had saved the President from his infamous near-execution four years earlier, Mahone found himself questioning how he could have missed the signs that he was being played – if, indeed, the man was as easy to decipher as Mahone had assumed all along.

Time cut at Mahone's patience. Bordering on information overload, he resisted reading any further into Sunset Ridge and removed his glasses, wiping his tired eyes. He glanced at a flat-screen TV set into the wall panel separating the cabin from the cockpit.

Still thirsty for answers, he gingerly stepped past Ryan's dozing figure and attempted to switch the TV on. The screen remained stubbornly blank, and his hopes of catching some news about Chris or Cameron or anyone dashed, he took up his seat again, piqued.

By the time the pilot announced that they were descending over LA, he had worked himself into a nervous wreck. Ryan stirred, the intercom message waking him, and he yawned. Stretching his arms out, he cottoned onto Mahone's state of mind immediately.

Mahone looked up from where he was obsessively stacking and restacking folders as he felt Ryan's eyes on him.

"The last time you were this close to losing it, we were two hours away from a firing squad," Ryan remarked.

"Things aren't that much different now." Mahone drew back from the table, fidgeting with the hemline of his jacket. "I need to see my son, Ryan."

"You know you can't do that."

"I can't do nothing while Cameron's out there! If you know where he is, the Company most likely does as well, and I will not stand by and let them take someone else I love away from me."

"Look," replied Ryan in a calm but vexed voice. "I think it was a pretty damn terrible idea bringing you here in the first place. Now I can protect you – I can keep the authorities off your back. But if you go storming into a heavily guarded safehouse looking to grab your son and bolt, it's going to end badly."

"We've pulled off bigger ops than that," Mahone insisted, unbuckling his seatbelt and standing along with Ryan.

Their arrival on the ground was evidenced by the slowing momentum of the surroundings outside. The thoughts running behind his serious expression almost impenetrable, Ryan unfurled his wrinkled coat and shrugged the garment over his shoulders. Before he could reply, however, the cockpit door slid open, and the pilot stepped out.

Ryan raised a hand to Mahone, asking him to wait, and turned and approached the pilot. Mahone studied them with narrowed eyes as they conversed in hushed tones. The pilot glanced over at him a few times, her face escalating in redness as she grew increasingly displeased by Ryan's proposition.

Finally, the pilot threw her hands up in frustration and stalked back to the cockpit. Ryan spun back to Mahone, grinning.

"Once we're done with Sunset Ridge, we're making a pit stop in Idaho," he said, slapping a hand on Mahone's back as the airplane hatch opened with a hiss and slid away from the wall, exposing them to the mild Californian air. "From there, you and Cameron can fly across the border. I know some people in Vancouver who you can stay with."

Mahone hesitated a moment, before allowing himself a very small and very forced smile. "Thanks."

"Say nothing of it."

Donning a pair of sunglasses, Ryan strode ahead of Mahone and descended the portable stairs which extended from the jet. He called out a greeting to a portly, bored-looking man leaning against a red Audi parked a few extra metres down the runway.

The man spotted them, and shouted something back in French. Mahone raised his eyebrows in surprise as Ryan replied just as fluently.

"Benefits of spending a year underground with a bunch of Malian commandos," Ryan explained from the corner of his mouth. "Don't ask."

Mahone briefly wondered to what extent his friend had changed since their last mission together.

They reached the smiling stranger, and shaking hands with the man, Ryan pointed towards the jet. Drawing as well as he could from his high school language classes, Mahone translated to himself that Ryan was joking about the grapefruit supply on board the plane.

"You know I'm just kidding, Walter," laughed Ryan as the man patted his gut self-consciously. "We'll be back within the hour. I'll pick up a basket of pomegranates for you on the way."

The man's rotund face scrunched up, not understanding, and Ryan quickly reverted back to French, glossing over his second jibe. Mahone hid another sad smile, the corny snarkiness he remembered so well from his friend unsettling him.

After a few minutes of rapid discussion, the man tipped his hat at Mahone, turned, and climbed the stairs. Mahone watched him vanish into the jet with a wisp of suspicion, but Ryan touched a hand to his arm, gleaning back his attention.

"He'll keep the plane warm for us," Ryan said, prompting Mahone to follow him towards the car. "I'd let you stay here as well, but Madam Pilot's already pissed enough as it is having to fly you out of the country, let alone having to keep you hidden in the one spot for an hour."

Mahone rolled his eyes, replying in a dry voice, "If I stayed any longer on that thing, I'd go even more stir-crazy."

"Yeah," Ryan chuckled. "I know."

They entered the Audi and sped off. Having never visited Los Angeles before, Mahone found himself slightly awestruck as he took in the unfamiliar sights and sounds rushing past. He remembered with a start that Jack hailed from the LA sector of CTU, and tried not to think about how much terrorist activity one might run into in such a beautiful city.

Reaching the highway and winding their car through the congested LA traffic, Ryan sensed Mahone's unease. He began to regale him with a story about a dispute he'd gotten into with a powerful drug syndicate operating out of Chinatown. Despite his attempts to chuckle at the appropriate times, Mahone grew listless, and his thoughts drifted as Ryan enthusiastically described how his car had been firebombed the last time he'd been in the city.

"But the bastards didn't know it was their LAPD mole sitting in the driver's seat. I swear, you should've heard the screaming once they managed to get their hands on some security footage …"

Though Ryan wasn't nearly as gifted as Mahone when it came to taking one look at a person and knowing their innermost secrets, he was still adept at interpreting body language. Trailing his anecdote off into nothing, he checked the traffic lights they'd stopped at before looking over at Mahone.

"You okay?"

Mahone jerked out of his reverie. He smiled as he caught Ryan's worried gaze, automatically raising a hand to pinch his drooping eyelids. Opening his mouth to further reassure his friend, however, he realised that his hand was trembling of its own accord and that Ryan had noticed. He stuffed it inside his jacket, not for the first time scared by his own deteriorating health.

"How long have you been off midazolam?" Ryan continued, pushing their car forward again.

Mahone thought for a moment, staring at his other hand and willing it to remain still as he felt his muscles tense.

"Three days," he stammered at last. "Actually … it's been a little over a week since I've taken."

"I can get you something on the way to the hotel. Cold turkey doesn't agree with you, Alex."

"No."

Mahone blurted out the word unexpectedly, surprising himself. It had been a long time since he'd been able to reject the easier of two paths laid out in front of him. He'd chosen a dead Shales over a Shales back in prison. He'd chosen drugs over embarrassing himself in front of an overpriced psychiatrist. He'd chosen to murder five of the Fox River cons instead of standing up to his old employers.

The thought that he was capable once again of making pragmatic decisions made him feel something akin to self-respect, until he remembered that this wasn't his first time doing so. He'd leapt a giant hurdle when he'd talked himself into visiting Chris, and that had ended on the worst note imaginable. He couldn't bring himself to replay his final meeting with Pam as well.

"No," he repeated in a more composed voice. "This is a bridge I have to cross to the end."

A look halfway between annoyance and admiration was all that was necessary for Ryan to convey his feelings on the matter. The car fell into silence again.

"Do you wish things had been different?" Ryan asked suddenly.

Mahone felt his hand tremor easing. "All the time."

"I mean Pam." The name slashed through the air, stabbing at Mahone's heart. "If you'd known this is where your life was headed, would you still have married her?"

A strange prickling sensation crept up Mahone's spine as he peered at the man beside him, but Ryan's eyes remained glued to the road. He considered his answer far more carefully than he needed to.

"You don't have anyone, do you?" he finally said, meaning it more as a statement than a question.

"My line of work doesn't really make that an option."

Mahone nodded, the reply chipping a little more away from him.

"If I could've spared Pam everything she went through, I would have. But when I think about my son, I realise how fortunate I was to have met her. And how horrible it was for her. I care about Cam too much to wish away his existence, but at the same time … I wish I'd listened to you."

"I didn't mean you should blame yourself for her death," Ryan said quickly.

"Maybe. But I shouldn't have underestimated Division 5. I shouldn't have given Hable the benefit of the doubt. I shouldn't have driven you to do what you did to keep my family safe, and all for nothing …"

Mahone stopped himself, realising that he was allowing too much emotion to seep into his words. Ryan, for the most part, did not look uncomfortable, and if Mahone didn't know any better, he'd conclude that his friend was the happiest he'd seen him since coming back from the dead.

Another ten minutes of banal chatter passed between them before the traffic surrounding their car grew even more clogged. Mahone looked up out of the windshield, spotting a towering building adorned by an elaborate, gold-edged sign in the distance – Sunset Ridge.

Instead of braving the tidal wave of media vans and spectators stationed outside the hotel, Ryan took the next left. He parked the car at the end of the alley they'd turned into.

"This shouldn't take any longer than half an hour," murmured Ryan, leaning across Mahone and opening the car's glove compartment.

Mahone blinked as Ryan withdrew a fresh casing of bullets and loaded his semiautomatic with fast and practiced hands. He swallowed imperceptibly, his decision made.

"I left my weapon behind in Maryland," he said, sounding calmer than he felt. "I need a new one."

It was Ryan's turn to look stilted. "Afraid a street cat's going to try something on you out here?"

"I've learnt anything's possible," Mahone replied. Knowing full well that Ryan might be the only person in the world who could still catch him in a lie, he continued, "If I'm going to keep my days as a wanted man unnumbered, it'd be nice to have a bargaining chip if I happen to come across a cop."

Holstering his own weapon, Ryan sighed hesitantly, before reaching underneath his seat and producing a long-barrelled revolver. Mahone took it, trying to assuage any guilt lurking inside him.

"Don't go anywhere," winked Ryan, opening the driver door. Pausing after he had stepped out, he leaned back through the window and added, "I really did miss you, Alex."

Mahone managed another frozen smile. "Same here."

Watching Ryan disappear out of the alley, Mahone's eyes flicked between the rearview mirror and the gun in his hand. Stowing the weapon inside his jacket, he counted through five minutes in his racing head. Checking again that Ryan was gone, he hastily exited the vehicle and ran out onto the sidewalk.

The rational part of him knew – scanning the packed area for a way into the hotel – that what he was doing was equatable to suicide. He had never thought much of Heller, but he felt obligated to Cameron to take out the threat looming on the horizon. If the Company got away with the plan that had begun with Reynolds' resignation, there was no telling what they would do next.

By the sound of it, Heller had already arrived, which meant Mahone was running out of time. He was about to barge right through the front door, giving less and less of a damn whether or not he was recognised, when a rolling piece of garbage caught his eye.

Edging along the back of the crowd, he left the scrum behind and walked up to a tall, solid metal gate. The garbage scraps buffeting through the crack underneath it more than gave away the presence of an easy entrance.

Mahone pushed against the gate. He was predictably met with protest by a chain lock. Looping the lock around to his side of the gate, he threw a glance behind him as he pulled out his revolver. The roar of the crowd drowned out the gunshot, and the lock broke apart.

Swiftly entering his second alley of the day and closing the gate behind him, he paced ahead, before backtracking towards a mesh door.

True to his calculations, the door led into the Sunset Ridge kitchen. Just as they had been too busy to properly dispose of the rubbish that was a natural result of preparing such a huge opening banquet, so too were the kitchen staff too absorbed in their tasks to notice Mahone as he slinked through their midst.

Approaching the kitchen exit as casually as he could, Mahone kept his head down and finally left behind the culinary mayhem. He could hear camera flashes and a collective buzz of voices a short distance away from the corridor he was in. Turning the corner, he found himself in a sea of reporters and dignitaries.

All of the people in the hotel lobby were swarming through a set of intricately carved wooden doors, which Mahone guessed led into a large hall that had been set up for the coming press conference. Hanging back from the surging crowd, Mahone noticed that several individuals were pulling out car keys and hair pins.

Of course. It didn't take a genius to figure out that metal detectors would be brought into play here.

Baring his teeth in frustration, Mahone searched around the lobby for another opening. He nearly choked on his dismay as he locked eyes with a dark-suited Secret Service agent on the other side of the crowd. The young agent looked away quickly, but Mahone knew an alert had already been issued.

Not even entertaining the thought of fleeing, Mahone cut through the crowd and halted in front of the man. The agent had the common sense to look threatened and a little scared by the haggard fugitive in front of him, but he didn't go for his gun, still accessing the danger posed to the crowd.

"I know you know who I am," Mahone hissed, holding his hands in front of him in a gesture of peace. "I also know this is going to be hard to swallow, but there is a man in this building who is going to be making an attempt on the President's life within the hour."

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step aside," the agent said evenly, taking Mahone by the arm.

Mahone shook him off. "No! Didn't you just hear me? The President's life is in danger. You have to get him out of that room now!"

A blast of white-hot pain discarded any other warnings Mahone thought to shout out. Feeling the cold touch of metal against his back, his body began to convulse uncontrollably, and a hand muffled his yell as he dropped to the floor.

"Get him out of here before he causes a scene," a deep voice barked.

Mahone felt the barbs of an electric taser being plucked from his neck, and hands groping around his shoulders as he was dragged into a small room. The young agent dumped him, huddled and shaking, over the grey-carpeted floor, and left without another word.

By the time the door opened again, Mahone's condition had declined. He didn't have too much experience with tasers, but the teeth chattering in his mouth as though they resided in a body trapped on an Antarctic iceberg clued him in pretty well to the fact that he was in worse shape than he'd originally thought.

"I told you to detain him, not electrocute his ass," a sickeningly familiar voice said from the doorway.

"He was getting aggressive, sir."

Head spasming so hard he felt close to either throwing up or imploding on himself, Mahone gazed up in time to see Ryan shove the young agent out of the room and close the door. His friend spun and caught his look.

"I was wondering when you were going to smarten up," Ryan said simply. He paused before making his way over. "The only question was when. So –" he crouched down beside Mahone "– when did you figure it out, Alex?"

Mahone brought his eyes level with Ryan's, burning anger complementing tranquil inquisitiveness.

"Right after we … got on the plane."

"Ah." Amusement filled Ryan's handsome yet somehow distorted features. "Your precious Pamela did meet your brother before she died, then."

"Every four months for the last three years," Mahone replied, a wobbly, sardonic smile on his face. "At the diner. Noon to half past. Should've done … your homework. Copain."

"I almost feel like an amateur."

Out of nowhere, Mahone launched a gob of spit at the smirking face hovering mere inches from his own. Ryan blinked, the juvenile insult sliding down his cheek.

Then, a flash of unadulterated rage crossing his face, he drew his fist back and decked Mahone straight across the mouth.

"How could you have been so stupid?" Ryan yelled, standing again as Mahone clutched his jaw with a still tremoring hand. "If you'd just stayed in the goddamned car, you could've walked away from all of this. Did I need to give you some perusal time before you realised this was a test?"

"I'll never go back to Division 5," spat Mahone, easing himself into a sitting position.

"Yeah, I think you made that point crystal fucking clear already."

Pacing in front of Mahone's slumped form, Ryan's tone grew even more heated.

"I vouched for you, Alex. I talked the General into giving you one last chance. I jeopardised my entire career in order to give them a reason not to eliminate you, but you couldn't help being so damn righteous! I can't protect you anymore."

Mahone weighed up his physical chances of taking Ryan out by surprise. He discarded them just as abruptly as his inner soldier screamed that the stranger in front of him was far too strong and indomitable to take on even at his peak.

Instead, he rasped, "What happened to you?"

Ryan halted his erratic movements. He headed towards Mahone, who braced himself, expecting another blow. However, Ryan merely sat down opposite him. They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Did you think I'd just flat out lie about what I've been up to during the years I was supposed to be dead?" Ryan asked, his voice quieter. "Everything I've told you since yesterday has been the truth. I really did go underground for your sake. I really was planning to provide sanctuary for you and your son."

"Am I supposed to be thanking you?"

"I never asked anything from you." Ryan withdrew his gun from his coat and ran a finger over the cool metal. "Except for you to quit wasting your potential on that bitch you called your wife."

Mahone involuntarily shifted forward, face reddening, but Ryan pointed his gun up at him. Relaxing his taut body, Mahone settled for letting out a low growl.

"Four years," Ryan continued, lowering his weapon again. "Four years I watched and respected and admired the perfect killer you'd become. You think grieving over me for a decade was bad? Try mourning even longer than that the fact your best friend squandered his potential because he settled down with some bimbo he picked up in college."

Mahone's breaths came out shallower as a horrifying realisation slammed into place.

"I actually thought giving you a chance to experience how pathetic family life is would send you crawling back to us. I should've known you were too sentimental for that. Too weak …"

"It was you."

The blood-chilling words cut off Ryan's diatribe. He opened his mouth to question Mahone's statement, but stopped again – the look on Mahone's face said it all.

He shrugged. "It was me."

Mahone lowered his gaze, and it seemed from his expression that he had come apart. It was a look familiar to all Division 5 operatives. All of them were experienced enough in the art of suffering and death. It was in their blood.

And indeed, after a moment, Mahone began to sob into his jacket.

"I wish I could say it was painless for her," Ryan went on matter-of-factly. "But Pam … she was quite the little fighter. I had to use this –" he held up a closed fist "– to put a handle on her, and in the end this –" he waved his semiautomatic in the air "– won out."

With an abrupt cry of rage, Mahone leapt at Ryan.

Fuelled by hatred such as he'd never felt before, he tackled the man, knocking the gun out of his grip. Ryan choked as Mahone's hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life out of him with surprising strength.

Unfortunately, Mahone had forgotten in his moment of reprisal how skilled Ryan was at mortal combat. Bringing his knee up into Mahone's ribcage, Ryan quickly rolled out from under him and followed with a sharp blow to the face. Mahone fell flat on the ground.

Just as he flipped over to come at Ryan again, Mahone was forced back down by Ryan's elbow pressing against his throat.

"Damn you," said Ryan, holding Mahone in place. "I don't want to fight you!"

"You son of a bitch!" Mahone screamed at the top of his lungs, struggling with every faculty he had.

Ryan struck his windpipe, hammering the air out of him. He sputtered, rolling onto his side in pain as he was released. Snatching his gun back up, Ryan grabbed Mahone by his jacket and dug the weapon into his temple.

"I don't want to fight you," he repeated. "But it's over. Do you understand me? In half an hour, the President will be blown off the face of the earth, and you'll be the one confessing to it when the authorities find your fingerprints all over the crime scene. That, or you and Cameron die."

"I'm going to kill you," Mahone replied, enunciating each word. "I'm going to bury you."

Ryan sighed, looking almost regretful.

"You know what the Company is capable of, and you know I'll give the order to take out your son if I have to. But if you make it out of this, Alex – go to Venhart Carinae. I know you can figure it out. Good luck."

And with a shake of his head, Ryan smashed the butt of his gun into Mahone's face, rendering him into oblivion.

* * *

Though it felt like he had been out cold for hours, Mahone knew the instant he awakened that only a fraction of that time had passed.

His eyes were already darting around his new prison by the time he reached full consciousness. The room was smaller and more brightly lit than the one he'd just left. Groaning at the assault on his eyes, he made to wipe what felt like blood from his forehead, only to realise that he'd once again woken up with handcuffs around his wrists, this time securing him to a metal chair.

He tensed as he heard voices – one male and one female – arguing on the other side of the room's door. Though the words floating through to his ears were audible enough to pick out, his mind was too focused on one overwhelming thought.

Find Ryan.

The door opened before he could act on it. A petite woman with wavy blonde hair entered. Mahone directed his most ferocious glare at her, but just as quickly dropped it as he recognised her with a jolt of bemusement.

"Karen Hayes," he said blankly, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of sounding panicked. "Are you here to finish the con or to finish me off?"

Shutting the door and checking through the glass window that any eavesdroppers were gone, Karen pulled a set of keys out from her bag and turned to him.

"We don't have much time," she said, edging around behind him and unlocking his cuffs. "You need to leave as soon as possible."

Mahone didn't move as Karen pressed the keys into his hands. "Being that you're the President's NSA advisor, I wouldn't have thought you'd believe your husband so easily when he told you I was that gullible."

"Bill was the one who explained everything to me," Karen replied, setting her bag down. "Jack Bauer and Paul Kellerman are waiting for you around the corner."

Suddenly, she took a hold of the right sleeve of her expensive blazer and tore it down the middle. Mahone stood in alarm as she proceeded to run her fingernails over her cheek, drawing blood.

"Are you out of your mind?" he yelled, wrenching her arm away.

"Jack told me I had to make this look like you attacked me and escaped. If the Company finds me sitting here with the keys in my hands and you gone, they will eliminate me." Karen took a deep breath and pulled out of Mahone's grasp. "You have to knock me out, Mr. Mahone. Right now. And convincingly."

Mahone's mouth was slightly agape as Karen spun away from him. Her entire body was rigid, waiting for him to strike. He shook his head even as he realised that she was tough enough to take it.

"I'm not in the business of hurting women."

"This isn't the time to be a gentleman," Karen said impatiently. "I'm ordering you, now, to knock me ou-"

Her last word was cut off by Mahone's arm latching around her throat. She made a startled noise, instinctively trying to unhook his sleeper hold, before she caught on to what he was doing and lowered her hands.

"Just relax," Mahone whispered into her ear, keeping his arm loose but still taut enough to render her unconscious. "You'll be fine after this. Relax."

After a few seconds, Karen's body sagged. Lowering her gently to the ground, Mahone stuffed the keys she'd given him into his pocket. He brushed her hair from her face and said a quiet thank you, before hurrying out of the room.

The hallway, which came to a dead end on Mahone's left, was deserted. Heading in the opposite direction, he turned the corner and ran straight into the barrel of a silencer.

"Alex," said Kellerman, speaking as though they were old friends who'd run into each other on the street.

Mahone scanned the vicinity as Kellerman lowered his gun, noticing that the only other person in the area was the young Secret Service agent he'd confronted before. The man had been shot between the eyes by someone whose identity Mahone didn't have to guess at.

"Where's Jack?" he asked urgently, reaching into his jacket and discerning with surprise that Ryan's revolver was still there.

"He went to get the President to safety." Kellerman's face was the most serious and humour-free Mahone had ever seen it. "Alex, this is important. What is the Company's contingency plan?"

"There is no contingency plan. I have no idea. A Company assassin might be the shooter, but he ordered me to take the fall for it. Right before he had me locked up in that room."

"That doesn't make sense," snapped Kellerman. "Who else is in the building? Think!"

"I don't know!"

Mahone ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. There was no way the Company could have anything hiding in the wings that was big enough to wipe out Heller and implicate himself if he wasn't even standing in the same room.

And then the answer blindsided him.

"Grapefruit, pamplemousse," he breathed. "Pomegranate … oh my God."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kellerman blasted, rounding on him. "We have to … Alex!"

But Mahone was already sprinting away towards the hotel lobby. He heard Kellerman running after him, shoes pounding against the soft carpet.

"He was warning me!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"For god's sake – about what?"

They reached the lobby, and Mahone pivoted around as Kellerman caught up to him outside the hotel's main hall.

"It was here all along," he panted, tone frantic. "It's not a person, Paul, it's a bomb! It's a goddamned explosive–"

At that moment, an ear-shattering boom erupted from within the hall. Before Mahone or Kellerman could react, the glass panels set into the wooden doors shattered outwards, and the searing heat wave that followed blew them off their feet, sending them hurtling backwards.

The screams that followed were sounds that Mahone would never forget.


	14. The Soldier He Was Before

_Chapter 14: The Soldier He Was Before_

* * *

"Chloe. Thank God you made it."

It wasn't until the words slipped out of Jack's mouth as he exited the staircase landing and spotted his friend sitting a few feet away that he realised the source of half of the tension that had been building up inside of him since he'd gotten onto the flight to LA.

A huge smile lit Chloe's face. Setting aside the laptop she'd been working on, she leapt to her feet and – before Jack could say anything else – wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug.

The gesture startled him almost as badly as his first few hours back on home soil had. He soon relaxed his body, however, and managed a stiff embrace in return. One of Chloe's hands dug into a bruise on his lower back, but he refrained from wincing, more for Chloe's sake than that of the man looming behind them.

"I hate to break up the fireworks," Kellerman's smooth voice broke in. "But we're half an hour out from midday. The President's life doesn't have time for this."

Chloe shifted her gaze from Jack's tight-lipped smile to a point just over his shoulder. Her joyful expression transitioned into a more standard one of disdain.

"I wasn't expecting you."

Preceding their departure from Baltimore, Jack had arranged to meet with Chloe on top of the building across from Sunset Ridge. Fortunately, it had turned out to be a public museum. Unfortunately, he had neglected to mention Kellerman.

"Didn't we ID him as the guy who tried to kill you two years ago in Chicago?" Chloe went on bluntly, turning to Jack as though Kellerman had vanished into thin air.

Jack ran a hand over his face, trying to maintain the patience that had been stretched more than a few times over the last week.

"It's complicated."

"Yeah, well, you might trust this jerk now, but ever since the Chinese took you, I've been doing background checks on everyone with connections to the Company, and this guy's come up a lot. He's, like, one of Reynolds' closest associates, and did I forget to mention the part where he tried to kill you?"

"Okay, hi, Paul Kellerman, and just so we're clear – I'm standing right in front of you."

Chloe let go of Jack and backed up a few steps, crossing her arms and scowling at the former Secret Service agent.

"I'm sorry if I come across as shy," she muttered sarcastically. "I get like that around conspiracy-sponsored assassins who ruin my friends' lives."

A wide smirk that looked painful to Jack's trained eyes stretched across Kellerman's face.

"It's attitudes like yours that remind me why I turned."

"The last thing you should be asking for is gratitude," Jack retorted before Chloe could speak. He faced his friend. "But we're running out of time. We need someone who can identify any Company members situated on the premises."

"And all the database hacking skills in the world wouldn't get you close to the information I have on the Company," Kellerman added in a low drawl. "But then, I'm not here to justify myself to someone who's played above the law more than a few times in her life."

Chloe's mouth was pressed into a thin line as Jack took her by the shoulders and led her back to the laptop. He glared at Kellerman all the while. The man reciprocated with a nonchalant shrug.

Casting a glance across at the hotel, Jack asked quietly, "Have you been able to penetrate the Sunset Ridge security system yet?"

"Yeah." Chloe chewed down on her lip. "But it was hard. I only managed to create a temporary time loop of the camera gridmap."

"How is that a problem?"

"It means the feed cuts out every five minutes, and every time I log back on there's a chance someone'll catch on to what I'm doing." Seating herself on the bench again, Chloe flipped open her laptop. "I'm offline at the moment, but I guess since you're going in there now, I should show you the danger spots."

Jack's eyebrows squeezed together. "If you're caught, will they be able to trace you?"

"Not unless they have a mathematical genius on their security team."

"OK." Jack paused as Chloe began to type furiously. "Thank you."

Nodding more to himself than to Chloe, Jack left his friend to do her work. He joined Kellerman at the edge of the rooftop. Kellerman's entire body was rigid, but Jack knew he was scanning the hotel building for entrance routes and potential hurdles. Apart from that, it was impossible to discern what the man was thinking behind his aviator shades.

"Good show for the President," Kellerman remarked at last.

Jack took a moment to reply. "Yeah."

"I know you think you know why I'm doing this," said Kellerman, pivoting suddenly to face Jack. "But I also know there are some things you can't go back from. That any redemption, or any true normalcy, is too far out of reach by now."

The words settled like a bitterly cold, blackened fog. Kneading an unconscious hand over his right shoulder, Jack swallowed back a mixture of anger and grief. He wasn't sure which emotion was having the stronger impact. Chloe's startled voice rang out before he could reply.

"Jack, you might want to take a look at this."

Glowering at Kellerman for a few seconds longer, Jack spun and went back to Chloe. Her face wore a familiar expression – one telling of an event that didn't bode of good news.

"What's going on?" he asked, standing behind the bench and looking over Chloe's shoulder at the laptop screen.

She merely shook her head, pointing a finger at the centre of the screen. Enlarged in front of several smaller windows which each conveyed a different camera feed was the viewpoint of a particular camera pointed at a large metal gate.

Jack squinted at the grainy image. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary at first glance, but on closer inspection, he could see that the chain lock securing the gate had been blasted apart.

"He was there, Jack, it was Mahone," Chloe blurted, twisting around. "I mean, I know what he looks like, and he has a gun …"

"Chloe, of course I believe you."

"Wouldn't that have set off an alarm?" Kellerman asked from behind them. His question garnered him twin stares of irritation, and he rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying."

Jack stood back up from where he'd been peering at the laptop, thinking hard. Chloe blinked at him, waiting for his next move.

Finally, he said, "Kellerman's right. There's already Company in place who are making sure Alex goes through with the job."

"While it's highly reassuring to know you're still so quick on the uptake," Kellerman murmured, heading back to the staircase entrance, "I think it's time we get to it already."

Watching Kellerman disappear down the stairs, Jack moved to say goodbye to Chloe. She was already placing a hand on his arm, though – and still wary of the smallest provocation that for the last two years had meant another round of mind-numbing pain, Jack lurched away.

Chloe looked crestfallen as he took a moment to gain a hold of himself again. Recovering from his shock, he saw that she was holding out a small earpiece for him. He took it silently, and fastened it inside his left ear.

"I'm sorry we didn't try harder to get you out, Jack," she said abruptly, before wincing with regret at the callousness of her outburst.

He re-adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulders, giving his hands something to do as the awkwardness of Chloe's apology hung in the air.

At last, he smiled at her, and placed a scarred hand on her shoulder.

"Don't ever be sorry."

And without waiting for a reply, he spun away and hurried after Kellerman, the slight constriction of his throat the only sign that his forgiveness wasn't as complete as he wanted to believe.

* * *

_Three months ago – somewhere in Guangdong Province, China_

* * *

It was an indictment to Jack's delirium that he had been reduced to taking bets with himself over whether his hands or feet would succumb to frostbite first.

The room he had called home for the last year or so – he'd long ago lost count of the amount of time he'd been in captivity – was the very definition of an antithetical, frozen hell. He couldn't remember a night time when his cell hadn't been below subzero temperatures.

Nor could he remember how long it had been since he'd been restrained in his current position. Though the daily rounds of interrogations he was subjected to a few doors down was hardly something he was eager to return to, he couldn't claim that being strung up to the ceiling by a chain loop and manacles for what seemed an eternity was any more pleasant.

His head jerked upwards as he heard footsteps echoing from behind the door to his cell. As of late, it wasn't the first time he'd been so easily startled out of sleep. Cheng Zhi had ordered his men to place Jack in the most torturous position possible, and they'd complied by arranging the chain so that it lifted him about a foot off the ground.

He'd struggled to maintain a balance on the tips of his toes until exhaustion had taken over. When the ache in his shoulders had grown unbearable, he'd resumed his task with increasingly less fervour. The endless cycle had made any real sleep impossible.

As a result, his paranoia was at its peak as the door swung open. Blinding light tore into his unfocused retinas, and he made a small grunt of pain, lifting himself so that he was on his toes again.

More light flooded the room as candles were brought inside and placed on a wooden table, along with a small bag. Jack blinked rapidly as he recognised the man firing off orders before him in Mandarin. He raised his head defiantly and managed an ardent glare. Cheng returned it as the soldiers around them quickly dispersed from the room, shutting the door behind them with an ominous thud.

Cheng's lip was curled into a sneer. Pacing around Jack with his hands behind his back, he inspected his prisoner as though he was in an art gallery gazing upon a particularly fine piece of work. He didn't speak for several minutes.

Finally, he stopped a few inches from Jack's face and murmured, "I do not know whether to be impatient or impressed with your resilience, Mr. Bauer."

Jack wanted to spit every obscenity he knew at Cheng. He wanted to strangle the man with the chain tying him to the roof, wanted to snap his neck, wanted to cause him every bit of pain that he'd been put through and much more. He wanted him worse than dead.

But contrary to his macabre fantasies, he did nothing more than shoot daggers at Cheng with his hooded eyes.

"Do you know how long you have been secured like this?" Cheng asked. When it became clear that Jack wasn't going to be breaking his silence any time soon, Cheng went on, "Two weeks. No food and barely adequate water for two whole weeks. I had thought you would be begging for leniency by now. Once again, I severely underestimated your stubbornness."

Running a hand over his mouth as Jack's jaw clenched, Cheng took a step back, his scowl deepening.

"You reek of filth."

If Jack had been asked to grasp at straws in order to come up with one favourable thing about his detainment, he would have cited the relatively fair way he'd been treated outside of his interrogations. He had been afforded regular meals and access to a bathroom. Even though he knew Cheng had provided them for him only to keep him strong enough to survive being electrocuted, whipped and beaten upon day after day, the thought that his captor still needed him alive was the only thing that was keeping him sane.

That was all until, as Cheng had given away, a fortnight ago. The Consulate employee had come storming into his cell in a punitive fit of rage, and Jack had feared for a moment that his days were numbered. Instead, Cheng had directed his men to lift Jack from the floor and force him into his present stance. He'd left Jack in complete darkness ever since.

At the beginning, Jack had wracked his brain for anything he'd done to incur Cheng's wrath, coming up empty. Delirium had soon set in, leaving room for little else except the bleakest of thoughts. In that time, it made sense that his body had built up an inordinate stench. Jack's senses, fortunately or not, were too numb to smell it himself.

"There is some pertinent information about a certain slush-funded organisation that I wish to acquire," Cheng said, turning away from Jack and strolling over to the table in the corner. "I believe you have had prior experience with this group."

Jack swallowed as his tormentor dug through the bag on the table, and he wondered whether Cheng had at last decided to conduct a more hands-on interrogation. However, Cheng merely extracted two glossy sheets of paper. He returned to Jack and held a sheet up for him to see in each hand.

"Do you recognise these faces?"

Taking a few moments to adjust his gaze onto the pieces of paper, Jack realised that they were photographs. One was of a blonde woman, whose pretty countenance was twisted into a gloomy expression. The other was of a slightly older, darker-haired man, whose chiselled features gave off a distinctly smug vibe.

"Surely you must have pondered the identity of the individual who passed on the fact you were alive 15 months ago," said Cheng. His sneer widened as Jack made a wretched noise in the back of his throat, and he thrust the photos closer, repeating, "Do you recognise these faces?"

Jack didn't answer. Instead, he shared a long glower with Cheng. At last, Cheng smiled.

"Alright, Mr. Bauer. I will give you the facts. This man and this woman are part of an organisation which unofficially refers to itself as the Company. I have had only one encounter with an agent under the employ of this illicit group."

Brandishing the picture of the man, Cheng continued, "Ryan Kingswood. At the time when he contacted me with the information that you were not dead, he was working under the direct orders of a man whom my own superiors are very eager to unearth. This man is a military general who was believed to have died shortly after the end of the Gulf War. However, evidence which has recently come to light refutes this fact. The name of the man in question is Gregory-Smith Hable. First name William."

Despite not recognising any of the details that Cheng was reeling out, Jack still kept his stoic expression. He had no reason to maintain the illusion that he knew more than he was letting on, but from the deadly expression on Cheng's face, he had a feeling that his captor's patience would end or persist depending on his answers to the questions that were inevitably about to be levelled at him.

Cheng let out a sigh as Jack lowered his eyes to the photo of the man who had betrayed him.

"Our men stationed in your country have only managed to pinpoint Mr. Kingswood's location once since I last spoke with him. Two weeks ago, he was seen with this woman outside an airport terminal. We do not know who she is – but that is not the point. What is most critical is determining the precise attributes of the documents that they met to discuss. These documents describe in part a project called Venhart Carinae."

Jack had learnt a long time ago that the more confused he allowed himself to look, the more culpable he appeared in Cheng's eyes. Unfortunately, he couldn't help but grant access to bemusement at Cheng's last words. Cheng caught the furrow of his brow and nodded to himself, his suspicions confirmed.

"We both know that anyone with access to the VC system is in a very formidable position of power indeed."

Shifting away to the table again and dropping the photographs in favour of a small toolkit, Cheng stood to the side in order for Jack to better see what he was doing. A lump formed in Jack's throat as Cheng zipped open the toolkit and withdrew a syringe and a pair of gloves, slipping the latter over his hands.

"My superiors, as a consequence, would very much like to ascertain the location of either General Hable –" Cheng raised the syringe and filled it with a clear liquid which Jack would have guessed was water if he didn't know better "– or the facility itself which houses the VC servers."

If Jack had ever heard a reference to the words Venhart or Carinae before, he couldn't recall it. Judging from the way Cheng was looking at him, walking back with syringe in hand, that was going to prove a problem.

The edges of Cheng's lips thinned into a harsh line as he halted in front of Jack.

"Believe what I have to say or not, Mr. Bauer, but I have had experience with something akin to your plight."

Jack managed to respond with a vacant blink. Cheng narrowed his eyes.

"When I was a small boy – five years old, to be precise – I was held with my family in a camp much like this one. The only water we were afforded was that which the guards splashed over the floor for us to lick at like dogs. By the time we were released, we hadn't bathed in months. So I can assure you, from personal experience, that there is no better feeling than cleaning oneself after being denied fresh water for so long."

Hefting the syringe up in the hope of provoking a response from Jack, Cheng waited, but was only answered with more silence. He stabbed a gloved finger at the syringe.

"This formula in my hand – you do not want to be injected with it. There is no English equivalent, and its Mandarin name is too complicated to recite here. All you need to know is that it is a truth serum. One of the most powerful in existence, made up of herbs which are grown exclusively in the Wudang Mountains."

Jack remained mute.

"The only reason I have not subjected you to this serum as of yet is because it is a very painful thing to have running through your veins. One in five men experience almost instantaneous death upon administration. Three in five end up permanently paralysed. I know, because I watched my own father being injected with it after he refused to surrender his comrades to his torturers. He died before my eyes."

The understated grief on Cheng's face was the closest thing to a real emotion Jack had ever witnessed from his captor. He couldn't have cared less about the man's story, however, and he showed it by raising the corners of his mouth into a wide smile.

Cheng's expression grew thunderous.

"I have known men like you, Mr. Bauer," he snarled, clasping his hands together in a show of displeasure. "Men who were more than willing to die for their cause. But you are the exception to that rule. You have no reason to remain loyal to a country that has abandoned you to your fate. Maintaining your silence at this point only serves to make you look foolish."

Jack flinched, drawing a slow smirk from Cheng.

The notion that Jack had been disavowed by his home country – with the closest thing to an American rescue attempt turning out to be nothing more than a cruel trick – had always hung unspoken between himself and Cheng. Hearing the thought uttered aloud, Jack could feel the walls he'd built up inside of himself breaking down a little further.

"I want to be sure that you are aware of what I am offering you," Cheng continued, pressing the tip of the syringe against Jack's upper right arm. "If you tell me everything you know about General Hable and Venhart Carinae, I will grant you a long, hot shower, and any food and beverages you request. Persist with your imprudence … and I will watch as you die in your own vomit."

Jack unconsciously prepared his body for the pain. He tried to reason with himself as Cheng shook his head and plunged the piston down that whatever was in the syringe couldn't be any worse than metal paddles sending tens of thousands of volts coursing through his body, or leather whips slicing into his back, or chains shackling him into a standing position for a fortnight straight.

In the end, the serum was far worse.

* * *

Though Jack was naturally inclined to detest Kellerman both as a person and as a man who for years had been after his blood, he couldn't deny that the ex-Secret Service agent was as good as his word when it came to knowing the Company inside out.

Jack had immediately rejected Kellerman's idea that they follow Mahone into Sunset Ridge through the already breached metal gate. He had only relented when Chloe had backed up Kellerman's claim that the Company had all other possible entrances covered.

If they were ever going to make it inside, taking the least plausible route would provide them with an element of surprise and a head start, at the very least. Jack had more faith in that line of reasoning than he did in the probable success of their mission.

Easing through the crowded hotel kitchen, they entered a surprisingly empty corridor. Kellerman drew his gun out as Jack confirmed with Chloe in a hushed tone that the region around the corner was clear.

It wasn't.

Proving his usefulness yet again, Kellerman pushed Jack backwards against the wall right before Chloe warned that two men were carrying a body straight towards them.

"It's Mahone," she said after a few seconds, unaware that Jack was otherwise occupied with helping Kellerman find an unlocked room in the corridor. "He looks dead."

Jack's stomach dropped as Kellerman finally came across an open door. Slipping into the room just in time, they shut the door and waited. The voices grew louder, until at last they passed by close enough for Jack to make out what they were saying.

"Under no circumstances do you let him out of your sight," a casual voice intoned. "Call me when it's over. I want to deal with Alex myself when he wakes up."

Allowing an odd sense of relief to flood him, Jack pressed his ear closer against the door as a deeper voice replied, "You're not staying?"

"The General wants me to report to him directly," the first man explained, sounding irritated at the thought of it. "Kim was taken into custody a few days ago. Hable wants him eliminated before he talks. Stewart!"

The voices trailed off as an indistinct third voice responded to the first. Jack turned to Kellerman. The ex-Secret Service agent looked more than a little aggrieved.

"I know them," Kellerman said as Jack waited for the men's footsteps to fade away. "They're the elite, Jack. The Company isn't taking any chances here."

"You recognise their voices?" Jack asked skeptically.

"I've worked with both of them more than a few times. Joshua Heinrich. Ryan Kingswood. Trust me, they're going to be a problem."

"Ryan Kingswood," repeated Jack before he could stop himself.

Kellerman hesitated, the hand he had on the doorknob remaining still only because of the unnerved look on Jack's face.

"Yes. What?"

"Nothing."

Kellerman's green eyes narrowed at the blatant lie, but he brushed aside his concern considering the more pressing problem at hand. Opening the door, he raised his weapon and edged outside. Jack followed closely, pushing down the memories which threatened to overwhelm his already trepidatious mind.

The corridor around the corner was empty. Ignoring Kellerman's impatient stare, Jack pressed a hand to his earpiece.

"Chloe, I thought Bill said that Karen agreed to meet us outside of the hotel lobby."

"I know. He did, but I haven't seen her on any of the feeds yet. And you better hurry, I think one of those guys is coming back your way."

At that moment, someone shouted out Kellerman's name. The male voice was cut off by the blast of a silencer, and Jack turned in time to see a young, dark-suited man fall to the ground with a bullet in his head. The gun in the agent's hand wasn't even halfway out of its holster. Jack blinked at the scene, still unused to witnessing such violence that wasn't being inflicted upon himself.

It took Kellerman's voice to jolt him back to reality. "Mrs. Hayes."

Following Kellerman's glance over his shoulder, Jack saw that Karen was standing a short distance away. She looked aghast at what had just occurred before her eyes, but her face smoothed over in an impressive amount of time, and she moved forward purposefully.

"It's good to see you," she said, shifting her gaze away from the dead Secret Service agent and smiling at Jack.

Jack couldn't stop his eyes from training on the ring on Karen's left hand, nor the accompanying resentment that surged through him. He managed a weak nod even as he tried to dampen the thoughts that oddly had only been growing stronger since his return from China.

In the time that Jack had been gone, Curtis had been promoted to second in command at CTU. Bill had left CTU altogether for a new job in Chicago and gotten married to Karen, who in turn had moved up to the position of the President's NSA advisor. Not to mention Heller himself … Jack rubbed his forehead as he dimly registered Kellerman introducing himself to Karen.

He knew it was irrational to feel angry that everywhere he turned, the people he had counted on as friends had moved on with their lives. But with the exception of Audrey, every encounter he'd had so far with old acquaintances had only strengthened his bitterness.

"Jack."

He broke apart from his thoughts as Kellerman loudly brought him back to earth. Meeting eyes with his two companions, he noticed the annoyed expression on Kellerman's face, as well as the more subtle one of guilt worn by Karen.

"Are you okay with that?" Kellerman asked, seeming to repeat himself.

Jack cleared his throat. "Sorry?"

"I was saying that there's at least one agent in the President's protective detail who is still loyal to him," Karen explained. "He's stationed outside the conference hall. I've told him everything – he'll let you through."

"No." Jack shook his head and went on before Karen or Kellerman could question him. "We just saw Alex being taken away. He isn't the Company's hit man – that means they have a contingency plan in place. We have to get to him and find out what it is before they kill him."

"We'll take care of that," Kellerman replied, earning a wrathful glare from Jack. "You have the eyes over this facility – you should get to the President. Karen has authority over Heinrich and Kingswood. She can get past them and retrieve Alex if he's still alive."

Jack wanted to protest, but he couldn't deny the soundness of the plan. He focused on Karen instead, who was growing visibly less composed.

"You know what will happen if the Company suspects you helped Alex escape."

"I understand, Jack." Karen raised her head in a show of confidence. "Good luck to yourself."

She nodded at Kellerman and left in the direction he'd pointed her to. Jack watched her go, worry settling despite himself.

"I'll pass along a message through O'Brian if Alex comes back with any information," Kellerman said, looking askance down the corridor towards the hotel lobby. "It's noon already. You should hurry."

Without sparing a reply, Jack moved off.

Common sense prevailed and proved correct the accuracy of Kellerman's theory. With Chloe directing Jack and warning him of possible obstacles, he was able to reach the entrance to the hotel's main hall without incident. Waiting for him there was a man who – despite not sharing the same room with Jack more than five times since they'd first met – made him break out a broad grin.

"Agent Pierce," he greeted warmly, approaching the red-haired Secret Service agent. "Karen told me you've been brought up to speed."

"That's right. I can't tell you how relieved I am to see that you're back, Mr. Bauer."

Jack stiffened at Aaron's words. He had a natural respect for the man from what little he'd seen of him in the field, but he couldn't help but react badly to any kind of apology for what he'd been through, sincere or not.

"Thank you for risking this," he replied at last, noting the general quiet from behind the double wooden doors which indicated that Heller's speech had already begun.

Aaron frowned. "I'm aware that the Company has operatives in place within the Secret Service. I had an encounter with one working under Charles Logan two years ago."

"Which means I took you down by surprise." Jack lifted his pistol from his satchel, along with a fresh clip. "There's a way we can perpetuate that illusion and stop this attack from happening at the same time."

Understanding immediately Jack's line of thought, Aaron opened one of the hall doors and waited for him to finish loading his weapon. They shared a long look, before Jack finally pulled the slide back on his gun. Aaron turned to face away from him.

Pulling the door further ajar so fast that it banged against the wall, Jack grabbed Aaron around the neck and pushed him into the hall.

The room was packed with reporters and other guests, all sitting around dozens of tables which were set before a large stage. Standing alone on the stage behind a glass lectern was President Heller, who looked none the worse for wear from when Jack had last seen him. Just as Heller noticed him and lost his voice in shock, Jack raised his gun and fired once into the air.

"My name is Jack Bauer, I'm a federal agent!" he yelled as several people cried out in alarm. He moved further into the room, bringing Aaron with him. "This area has been compromised. Someone here is making an attempt on the President's life, and he needs to come with me right now!"

Jack could see at least twenty Secret Service agents moving for both himself and Heller. He fired again at the ceiling, before grinding the barrel of his pistol into Aaron's temple.

"Nobody move or I blow this man's head off!"

Taking a step back from the lectern, Heller signalled at his bodyguards to stand down. Jack wasn't sure whether the presence of TV cameras or Heller's genuine concern about his former advisor's mental state contributed to his move. In any case, his unease at Heller's quick deference was quashed as he reached the table closest to the podium, and came upon an even more unsettlingly familiar figure.

Whispering urgently into her cell was the blonde woman he had encountered in Kansas and Maryland.

"You," he barked, releasing Aaron and pointing his gun at the Company agent. "Cullins. Get off the phone and get up."

Promptly snapping her cell shut, Rachel slowly raised her head to him. Flicking her gaze around the room before again meeting Jack's eyes, she lifted herself to her feet. It was difficult to tell from her skilfully emotionless face, but Jack could sense that something else was behind her steely glare. His mouth hardened.

"What is your primary objective?" he growled, stepping closer and ignoring the frightened sounds coming from elsewhere around the table. "Were you sent here to eliminate the President?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she scoffed, folding her arms.

Jack threw the empty chair separating him and Rachel aside. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

If it hadn't been for the slight shift of Rachel's eyes over his shoulder, Jack would have missed the sudden movement behind him. Dodging to the side, he watched as two barbs flew past him and lodged into Rachel's arm. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before she gave a soundless cry of pain, falling to the ground in a convulsing heap.

Jack aimed his weapon at the Secret Service agent holding the taser, even as he knew that he couldn't fire. The man was already retracting the wires with a mortified expression. More of his fellow operatives were moving in on Jack, and Jack glanced up to where Heller was, knowing that his ruse was over. The President in turn was being led off the stage. His eyes were still on Jack, and his expression had transitioned from shock to disbelief.

Dropping his gun, Jack knelt next to Rachel, his hands planted firmly behind his head. The hall grew in commotion as half a dozen pairs of hands proceeded to tackle him to the floor. He didn't fight back – the threat to the President was over, and he could explain himself in due time.

His inner reasoning was cut off by a flash of light, and the sound of the world ending.

Flat on the ground, Jack missed whatever it was that caused an explosion of heat to wash over the room, blasting apart everything in the nearest vicinity. Figuring it out didn't strain his thoughts, however, and he shielded his face as another bomb went off.

The detonations were over in seconds, and the room was soon overtaken by agonised screaming. Debris raining down on his head, Jack realised the agents who had been restraining him had ceased their movements. He lifted himself from the ground, and gazed in horror at his surroundings.

It was as though the offspring of a flash flood and a hurricane had ripped through the room. Bodies were strewn everywhere, interspersed among glass shards and – as Jack perceived with a sick lurch of his stomach – metal ball bearings.

He heard a groan underneath the shouting coming from the rest of the survivors. Stowing his gun in his bag, he threw a piece of wood off a bloody figure to his right and crouched down next to him.

Aaron's arm was badly lacerated, and Jack was certain that there were deeper internal injuries he couldn't see. The agent's eyes slid in and out of focus as Jack stripped away a piece of cloth from a table cover and wrapped it over his wound.

Working his mouth around his injuries, Aaron croaked, "The … President …"

"Just hang on," Jack said, helplessness at what to do seeping in. "Just hang in there."

He made a frustrated noise as Aaron passed into unconsciousness. Unable to do anything more for the man, he stood and began to search the rest of the wreckage. His chest constricted tighter with every body he came across, each more unrecognisable than the last. His voice grew hoarse as he called out Heller's name again and again.

"Jack?"

Whipping another gun from his bag and spinning around to the source of his name, Jack saw Mahone advancing towards him with a revolver similarly aimed at his chest. His partner halted and lowered his weapon, surveilling the carnage around them.

"My God."

"You alright?" Jack called out to him.

"Yeah." Utilising his free hand, Mahone began to brush glass out of his hair and off his jacket. "I know who did this, Jack. We have to find him."

Jack made his way over, surmounting three bodies piled in front of him at the same time. Mahone's shoulders sagged, shock beginning to register alongside an animalistic intensity that hinted at something terrible which had occurred during their time apart. Mentally noting it for later, Jack reached him and waved his arm around them both.

"Our priority is the President," he yelled over the clamour of guests fleeing the hall. "They probably have agents in place to ensure that he's been killed. Chloe, do you still have a reading on the cameras outside?"

Waiting a few seconds for his friend's voice to reply only to be answered by static, he wrenched the useless device from his ear and threw it on the ground.

"Damn it – Alex, I need you to start searching the east side of the room. We don't have much time."

Nodding mutely despite his glazed look of fury at the lengths the Company had gone to, Mahone headed for the other side of the hall. Jack resumed scouring the nearby debris, all the while pushing down the bile in his throat at the sight of body parts which seemed to be covering every surface.

It took only minutes for Mahone to shout over to him that he'd found the President. Stashing his gun away, Jack ran to where his partner was kneeling over an immobile figure. His insides churned as he took in the blood covering Heller's face, and the shredded clothing indicative of the fact that more than a few ball bearings had found their target.

"He's alive," Mahone said, lifting his fingers from Heller's neck. "It's bad, Jack."

"What can we do for him?"

"Even if there's someone here trained in field aid, he needs a hospital or there'll be permanent damage."

Mahone stood suddenly as he became aware of something behind Jack. It took his partner lifting his revolver, sapphire eyes darkening, for Jack to follow his lead. Pointing his gun right back at Mahone was a stocky man who Jack deduced was yet another Secret Service agent.

"Lower your weapon and move away," the man snarled. His eyes swept over Jack. "That goes for you as well."

"Don't trust him, Jack, he's Company," warned Mahone, voice creaking with hostility.

Having already recognised the man's voice, Jack yanked his gun from his waistband and levelled it at the agent along with Mahone. "I know."

"Where's Ryan?" Mahone asked with a sudden ferocity.

The agent's sweating brow kneaded together as Jack glanced sideways, similarly confused.

"Alex, what are you …"

"Where is he?" Mahone roared over Jack, taking a step forward.

There was madness in Mahone's actions, and for a moment, Jack couldn't tell which was the bigger hazard – the Company agent menacing them with a gun, or the completely unhinged man threatening right back. He was spared from taking an unfavourable course of action when a brunette woman segued into view, her eyes flashing.

"Drop it, Alex," she ordered, aiming her weapon at Mahone's skull.

Before anyone could move, however, a fifth armed agent entered the scene, his own gun trained on the woman.

"After you, Brinker," said Kellerman, the cuts on his face unable to dent the smirk on his face.

That the situation was escalating out of control was an understatement. Mahone's arm had twitched at the sound of Brinker's name, and he'd transferred his revolver onto the woman with lightning reflexes. Miraculously, his gesture hadn't earned him a bullet between the eyes, but Jack was certain that they would start flying if any further abrupt moves were made.

And with every second that was passing, death was gaining a tighter hold on the President.

"This is over – no-one's shooting anybody," he shouted, more for Mahone's benefit than that of anyone else involved in the standoff. "Brinker. Heinrich. You are outnumbered and you are surrounded. Surrender peacefully and you will get out of this alive."

Neither of the Company agents budged. Not taking her eyes off Mahone, Brinker addressed the second conspiracy victim standing behind her.

"Paul, you side with us, and we give you back everything you've lost."

Kellerman shook his head in disbelief. "I fell for that line once, Samantha. Twice the fool, and we both know it."

The agent called Heinrich was darting his eyes between Jack and Heller. Jack was fairly confident that the man wasn't capable of taking the extra step into a suicide mission, but he couldn't be sure.

"Don't even think about it," he hissed, side-stepping so that he was covering the President's motionless form.

Malevolence flashed in Heinrich's eyes. "Are we going to stand like this all day and let him die?"

"Why don't you shoot the skeptic and find out, Jack?" snapped Mahone, audibly pulling the hammer back on his revolver.

"Sure. And then your son'll be as good as dead."

Before Jack could yell at him to stop, Mahone spun back around and fired at Heinrich. Just as Jack grabbed Mahone by his gun arm and pulled him back, a cracking noise whipped through the air. Another one followed with equal abruptness.

Jack nearly fell as Mahone pushed him away. He watched powerless as his partner fired again in Brinker's direction.

There was a violent hush as Heinrich and Brinker slumped to the ground, dead from respective bullets in their torso, forehead and – as Jack realised when Heinrich rolled over in front of him – lower back. Jerking his head up and spotting the person who had fired after Mahone, he raised his gun and swept forward.

"Cullins, drop the gun and put your hands where I can see them!" he barked, advancing quickly on the Company agent. "Stand down now or I will shoot you!"

Throwing her weapon to the side and doing as Jack said, Rachel got to her knees. She glared at Jack as she shouted a reply with equal savageness.

"I'm CIA! I'm part of a black-ops division based in Boston. I've been working undercover inside the Company for the last three years!"

Smiling wryly at Rachel's statement as he stopped in front of her, Jack replied, "And you decided to break cover today of all days."

"In case you've forgotten, the President's life was at stake."

Jack turned to where Heller lay, and saw that several medics had since arrived and begun attending to him. An entire truckload of SWAT members had also stormed into the hall, and two were heading towards himself and Rachel.

"Agent Bauer, Bill Buchanan informed us of the situation," one of the SWAT operatives said. "We'll take over from here."

The other man nodded at Rachel. "This a hostile?"

"Yeah." Jack regarded the woman for a moment. "Take her in. I want her debriefed immediately."

"I just saved your life, Jack!" Rachel yelled as she was cuffed and pulled to her feet.

"You tried to kill Mahone and Scofield in Kansas."

"There was a wire on me, I didn't have a choice. And the Company just blew up a room with me inside it. Do the math!" She gritted her teeth as she was led away by the two SWAT members, and continued to shout over her shoulder, "If you call Langley, they'll deny I even exist!"

Sliding the cartridge from his gun and storing them both away in his satchel, Jack followed Rachel's retreating form, making a mental note to request an interview with her later. He then scanned the turmoil that was the bombed out room, and his heart sunk.

Survivors sporting varying degrees of injury and shell-shocked expressions were being treated on the scene. Aaron was already being wheeled away on a gurney. An IV drip had been rolled into the room and attached to the President's arm. Four medics in turn were easing Heller onto another gurney.

Jack was about to oversee the President's departure when he noticed Chloe arriving through the hall's double doors, looking lost amidst the chaos. As he called out to her, he realised with a jolt who was missing from the picture.

"I saw everything on the feeds, it was awful, Jack," Chloe said as he ran up to her. "I couldn't just pack up and leave."

"It's alright."

Jack pulled Chloe to the side, making way for Heller's medical team to pass through. Despite the futility of attempting to predict the President's condition, Jack suspected that the man who had survived plunging off a rock face into the ocean while still behind the wheel of a car would recover in time.

When Heller was out of sight, he focused on Chloe again.

"Are you still connected to the Sunset Ridge security system?" he asked urgently.

Chloe lifted her laptop from her bag and placed it on one of the few tables that had come away unscathed from the blast.

"Yeah. But only the cameras outside are working. The rest have gone haywire."

"That's more than enough," replied Jack, standing beside Chloe as she logged back in. "I need footage of the entrance to the hotel from the last five minutes."

"Where did Kellerman go?" she asked, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"That's what we have to figure out. Mahone as well … right there." Jack broke off suddenly and stabbed a finger at the screen. "Fast forward there."

Chloe did so. Visible in the feed, head carefully turned away from the camera as he hurriedly left the hotel, was Mahone. Peering hard at the footage, Jack noted the direction his partner was heading.

"He's running north-east. Chloe, I need you to inform SWAT that Mahone's trying to escape. Have them set up a perimeter."

"What about Kellerman?" rebutted Chloe, frowning as Jack stood to leave.

"He's not going to be a problem anymore. But Alex is going to get himself killed."

Dashing off before Chloe could so much as squeak a protest, Jack fought his way outside and through the massive congregation assembled at the front of the hotel. He could hear people shouting his name, but he ignored them, spotting a red Audi tearing out of an alley in the distance. He rounded on the closest available vehicle – a large Jeep which was parked further down the curb.

"I'm a federal agent, mam, I need to borrow this," he commanded, addressing a reporter who was pointing a microphone at him.

The reporter seemed to know who he was, and she passed her keys on to him without argument. Snatching the keys up and climbing into the Jeep without so much as a thank you, he tore out of the area.

For a few minutes, he feared that he had lost Mahone. However, roaring around a corner and cursing his partner under his breath, he found the red Audi speeding along only a few cars ahead. He hit the accelerator.

As though Mahone had grown an extra sixth sense, the Audi swerved to the side with a sudden squeal. Jack swore as car horns blared, their owners narrowly avoiding a collision with the vehicle as it cut through them into an adjacent street.

Too late to follow behind Mahone, Jack whipped his head back to read the name of the street. Drawing the layout of the area from the depths of his memory, he took the next left. Urging the Jeep to go even faster, he deviated another bend, and arrived onto the next street – straight in front of the red Audi.

Jack could see Mahone's eyes widening in surprise through the windshield. His partner wrenched the wheel of his car around, attempting a 360, but Jack was too fast for him. He rammed the Audi's bumper, sending it careening into a stack of dumpsters. The loud crash that resulted was followed by the sound of a car horn, before silence sliced through the air.

Leaping from the Jeep and lifting his pistol from his bag at the same time, Jack descended on the wrecked Audi.

"Alex, get out and put your hands in the air!" he roared, coming around to Mahone's side of the car.

The driver airbag had deployed, and Mahone's head was slumped on top of it. He turned at Jack's voice, clutching a hand to his bleeding forehead.

"You son of a bitch," he groaned.

Jack took a step back as Mahone kicked the car door open and climbed out. His partner had his revolver in his right hand, and was taking no care to prove that he wouldn't use it.

"Don't make me do this, Alex," he said, raising his weapon back at Mahone. "I want to bring you in peacefully. Just drop the gun."

"You think I'm trying to bolt?" Mahone snapped, hurt almost evident in his words. "To what, exactly? What do I have left, Jack? I'll let you parade me before the courts as the murderer that I am. I'll let you send me to jail. But I need to do this first."

"Do what? Run off on another suicide mission?"

Mahone's shoulders heaved as he struggled to contain his anger.

"I'm killing the man who killed my wife," he snarled, enunciating each word. "Venhart Carinae. That's where he's heading, and nothing is stopping me from going after him this time. So back off!"

Jack lowered his gun, although for an entirely different reason than letting Mahone off easy. The facts clicking inside his head, he deduced, "You're going after Ryan Kingswood."

There was a tense pause as Mahone's brow creased. "How did you know his name?"

"Because he was the agent who gave me away to the man who's held me in a Chinese prison for the last two years." Jack could see Mahone's resolve break down a little as disbelief took over, and he braved a step forward. "Believe me, I understand you want revenge right now. But it's most likely a trap, or worse, it isn't, and you're on your way to murder a man who's in the best position to help us bring down the Company."

Mahone's face twisted into a hateful rage again.

"No, Jack – don't you dare. Don't you dare tell me who I can and can't take out. I'm not going to pick and choose among the people responsible for Pam's death. They all die!"

"Trust me, I've had experience with that. Years ago, I did what you want to do. Only there's no satisfaction, no closure … there's just a void that grows deeper and bleaker. None of it will bring Pamela back."

"I'd prefer figuring that out for myself," Mahone replied, turning away from Jack now fully aware that he wasn't going to shoot him.

"Damn it, Alex! Think about Cameron. He's waiting for you. Don't throw that away now!"

Mahone froze at the sound of his son's name. When he faced Jack again, his expression was set into the same brutal look that he'd been wearing when Jack had first seen him back at Sunset Ridge.

"I called Buchanan myself," Jack continued, taking advantage of his hook into Mahone's common sense. "He told me Cameron's in a safehouse in Idaho. Your son wants to see you. Come with me and I can make that happen."

Darkness giving way to despair, Mahone lowered his revolver to his side and held his free palm against his forehead.

"I can't let Ryan get away with what he's done," he whispered in a broken voice. "I can't, Jack. Please."

Jack moved closer until he was standing face to face with his partner. Grimacing, he eased the gun from Mahone's shaking hand, and stored it inside his satchel.

He waited a moment, before asking quietly, "What is Venhart Carinae?"

Mahone sighed, a desolate exhaustion taking hold of him.

"It's the intelligence mainframe of the Company's military division." Pausing, Mahone wiped a trickle of blood from his brow. "Division 5 has leverage over nearly every administration in the world – public and private. They have servers which store video footage, sound recordings and incriminating documents … everything you can think of, and they use them to extort cash, weapons and new technologies."

"Do you know where the servers are located?"

Mahone nodded, the movement obviously difficult for him. "Seattle."

"Then if we find Kingswood, we find the VC project facility …"

"And everybody wins," Mahone finished with a flash of contemptuous mirth. "So either get in the car and come with me, Jack, or get out of my way."

They stared at each other for a long moment, challenge pooling in their collective gaze. At last, Jack retreated. Strolling to the driver side of his Jeep, he opened the door and stepped inside, all without uttering a single word.

A full minute passed before Mahone followed his lead, climbing into the passenger seat. Starting the engine, Jack left the totalled Audi and the back street behind, driving west towards the area where he knew the SWAT perimeter would be set up last.

It wasn't until they were safely on the highway that Jack spoke to Mahone again.

"What are the building's specific coordinates?"

"I give you that, and you'll send a team in our place and take me into custody," Mahone said, laughing bitterly. "Besides, Ryan will set the place on auto-destruct if he sees anyone else other than me approaching. So … no. I give you the address when we get there."

Peering at Mahone from the corner of his eye, Jack replied, "What makes you think I'd double-cross you like that? Why don't you trust me?"

"Because everyone I've ever placed my faith in has thrown it back in my face!" Mahone spat, grinding his teeth together. "Don't ask me to justify myself to you, Jack. The woman you love is still alive. If the Company ever leaves her dead body for you to find, come back to me then and ask for rational thought."

Jack returned his gaze to the road, swallowing uncomfortably as he saw that Mahone was wiping furiously at his eyes. He understood better than his partner knew the nature of the self-destructive urge that was propelling him towards vengeance.

He only hoped he could save Mahone before he reached the point of no return.


	15. Crossroads

_Chapter 15: Crossroads_

* * *

"It was a noble move on his part, but he's more or less dead now. That cannot interfere with what we're doing. I need you to swear it won't."

"What makes you think he didn't get away?" Jack asked, inclining his head sideways. "And why would it matter to me?"

Mahone raised the hand he had been running over his jaw and chewed down on his thumb. It was a bad habit of his whenever he grew overly anxious. The withdrawal pangs reverberating through his body as a result of his midazolam abstinence weren't helping.

Neither was Jack's habit of glancing at him every few minutes with the full expectation that he would snap at any moment.

"They pulled off a suicide ruling for Kim because he wasn't co-operating," Mahone finally replied. "But Kellerman already testified in the courts. He was talking. A public assassination would only have validated what he was saying. That's why they didn't find a body."

There was silence as he turned away from Jack's unrelenting stare.

"And he protected Audrey Raines when you couldn't."

It was a low blow, but Mahone couldn't help but glean a small piece of satisfaction from the spasm in Jack's cheek. His partner had impinged on a mission that he'd had no right forcing himself into. While Mahone's prospects of undoing the situation were slimming by the second, that didn't mean he couldn't remind Jack where his priorities lay.

Indeed, judging from Jack's tight grimace, it seemed he had forgotten that Kellerman had ceased to be an insignificant Company hit man in the last week. When Jack at last spoke, his voice was quiet.

"If you think his disappearance is going to affect my performance in the field, there are worse things I can think of. What I need to know is whether you're in the right state of mind to go ahead with this or not."

"Of course I am," Mahone said, far too quickly and far too irritably.

Jack frowned. Before he could elaborate on his concerns, however, two plates were dropped down onto the table separating them. Hiding his face, Mahone waited until the server uttered a lacklustre "Enjoy it" and darted off before he gazed down at his food. The sight didn't improve his appetite.

He felt a twinge of amusement as he noted the relish with which Jack was already digging into his steak and chips. There had been signs that things weren't quite right with his partner ever since he had met him. However, Mahone had completely overlooked the true horror of Jack's past, and he wondered now how that had been possible.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked.

Looking up from his meal, Jack swallowed down a large dose of bemusement along with his food and replied, "Tell you what?"

"The whole story."

For the entire trip up to Seattle, Mahone and Jack had spoken to each other only when they had been arguing with each other. While Jack had obviously decided that Mahone was a danger to himself, Mahone had been unable to placate his nerves to the point where they didn't jump with every slight movement that Jack made. He'd been expecting a double-cross with every corner they'd taken, and the feeling had only grown stronger the closer they'd gotten to the city.

The tension between them was manifest now, and Jack squared his shoulders, clearly wanting to avoid another confrontation within plain sight of the other diners.

"You should eat," he murmured, nodding at Mahone's untouched ham roll.

Mahone's lips quirked. "Not really."

Pushing his plate forward and leaning his elbows on the edge of the table, he rested his chin in his left hand and studied Jack. It was a technique that had never failed to break the more fragile of the numerous criminals he'd come across in his career.

And the potential for a full mental breakdown had been lying just close enough to the surface of Jack's placid exterior for Mahone to be aware of it ever since he'd discovered the truth about his partner's two year long 'retirement'.

Jack, however, continued his infuriating facade of calmness. He polished off his steak and took a sip of water, avoiding Mahone's eyes.

"You know, internalising everything and deflecting attention from your own issues – you can't keep it up forever," Mahone continued, voice and expression blunt. "It's going to catch up with you. I know, believe me."

"Shales can't compare to what I've been through," snapped Jack in return, and Mahone smiled at the flash of anger in Jack's eyes, never failing to derive enjoyment from the few displays of humanity his partner afforded himself.

"Our prisons might have been different, Jack. But we've both been through the same kind of hell."

Mahone didn't know whether his casual shredding of Jack's implacable veneer or Jack's realisation of his own hypocrisy when it came to disguising the truth was more entertaining. Nevertheless, a smirk found its way onto his face as his partner stood. Striding off to the restrooms, Jack left Mahone's statement hanging in the air.

There was the sound of a door swinging closed, and something heavy thudding to the floor.

"Sorry," an accented voice muttered.

Pivoting as far around in his seat as he could while still remaining discreet, Mahone spotted a bald-topped man wearing an oversized leather jacket facing away from him just outside the restrooms. The man bent to pick up the bag he'd knocked to the ground as Jack kneaded his right shoulder, his face expressionless.

He met Mahone's eyes, however, and narrowed his own in a scathing glare as the stranger stood back up. Grabbing his bag, Jack swept into the restrooms without a word in thanks. Mahone readjusted his position as the man approached his table.

His heart pace quickened as the man passed him, and the nondescript protrusion underneath the leather jacket he'd immediately scrutinised became more distinct.

Abandoning his pretence of staring vacantly out at the highway, Mahone got to his feet and shifted away from the window. The guttural roar of a motorcycle engine filtered in from outside. Mahone kept to the shadows as the man lifted a helmet onto his head.

Then, with chilling self-awareness, the man turned to look back at where he and Jack had been sitting only minutes before.

Shrinking further out of view, Mahone watched the motorcyclist speed off. Spinning on his heel, he made it to the men's room in four strides before barging inside.

It was empty save for Jack. Mahone was about to reel out his fiercest verbal tirade yet when his eyes fell on the mirror and he caught the look on his partner's face. Real fear was evident in the hooded depths. For the first time, Jack seemed to have lost himself to his own thoughts.

Mahone's entrance hadn't even registered. Staring at his reflection, Jack appeared more consternated by the person looking back at him. It was as though he was estranged further from himself than from the man he'd just bumped into.

"We were followed."

Jack looked around in surprise as Mahone appeared in the mirror behind him. Before he could protest, Mahone yanked the satchel from his shoulder and dumped its contents out onto the sink counter.

"Do you mind me asking what the hell you're doing?" Jack asked stonily, his glacial mask settling back into place as he whipped both of his pistols and Mahone's revolver out of sight. "Or should I assume you've reached the point where you want to get caught?"

"We were followed," Mahone repeated, sifting through the contents of Jack's bag and tossing aside each item with abandon.

"You know that's impossible." Jack made a frustrated noise as Mahone lifted his bag again and began to search through its front pocket. "You're being irrational."

Continuing to ignore Jack, Mahone winced as his fingers snagged on something sharp at the bottom of the satchel. Digging past the hunting knife, his hand enclosed around the second metallic object flashing up at him. He raised the miniscule item and dangled it in front of Jack.

"What's this?" he asked, not even looking at the discovery in his hand and instead visually interrogating his partner.

Jack studied it, shifting on his feet as Mahone's blue eyes seared into him. It didn't take him long to shake his head.

"We just lost whatever leeway we might've gained by you keeping your mouth shut," he hissed, pushing past Mahone and restocking his bag. "There's a listening device on that as well."

"Cut the act, Jack. You expect me to believe you were planning on playing along with the Company agent who just happened to find us in the restaurant you picked?"

Mahone was torn between rage and mirth as Jack mockingly took on his acerbic tone. "Are you implying I called someone in?"

When he didn't reply, Jack went on, "If I wanted someone to shadow us to the Venhart Carinae facility, I would have been a little less discreet about it. For all we know, the Company wants us to know they're onto us. For all I know, you placed the tracker here, hoping you could create a distraction later on enough for you to slip away. I didn't miss that you've searched my bag twice already."

"I think you're overestimating how much it would take to outsmart someone like you."

Jack's face twitched again. Instead of attacking as Mahone was already preparing for, Jack took the button-sized device from his hand and crushed it underneath his boot.

"It doesn't matter who was responsible for this," he said, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "We need to move before your paranoia leaves your son down a parent a second time."

Despite the fact that Mahone had thrown enough abuse Jack's way over the past few days to warrant him questioning when his partner would insult him back – as opposed to if he would – he hadn't expected the resulting wound to cut so deep. He took a shuddering breath, shocked into silence that Jack had managed to touch upon the source of his festering guilt so absolutely.

Jack knew he had crossed the wrong line. "Alex, I didn't mean …"

"No." Mahone took a step back, a concentrated form of madness echoing through the restroom as laughter escaped his lips. "No, you're right. Thank you for saying that. It's better if I stop denying it."

He lurched out of the restroom before Jack could intervene. Passing the counter and out the restaurant exit, he headed towards the Jeep. Pulling at the door handle and realising it was locked, he promptly slumped with his back against the passenger door and waited.

Though it was early afternoon, Mahone could see his own air vapour rising in front of him. A trickle of icy Seattle weather was seeping through his thick jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to rid himself of the cold. He was more successful at that than he was at dampening the flashes of Pam's body he had tried so hard to assuage his mind of.

The 4WD gave a sudden beep, and he glanced up to see that Jack had opened it remotely. Not wishing to see Jack's remorse up close, he climbed into the passenger seat and crossed his arms, staring fixedly out the window.

It wasn't until Jack joined him in the vehicle and threw a brief look his way that he realised his gesture had been akin to that of a sullen teenager's. He sat up a little straighter, preparing for Jack's apology.

None came. They both remained mute as they left the parking lot. By the time an hour had elapsed, the silence had become stifling.

Another half hour passed before Jack finally said, "We're almost there."

"So I'll give you the coordinates when we get there," Mahone replied brusquely. Jack didn't look at him, but Mahone could still sense his unwanted attention. "What is it?"

Jack sighed, clenching his scarred hands around the steering wheel as he drew to a stop at a freeway bottleneck. He didn't respond until they were half-way through.

"I still blame myself for my wife's death sometimes."

It was the last thing Mahone had expected Jack to say. He hesitated a moment, waiting for Jack to elaborate on a hypothetical situation or a cruel joke. When neither came, he twisted in his seat, his glower backed by the full weight of his thirst for revenge.

"Don't."

"The day she died," Jack continued, dismissing Mahone as he inched the Jeep forward on the road, "The day Teri died. I had a chance to kill the woman responsible, and I didn't take it. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't ask myself whether investigating a little further here or paying closer attention there would have exposed her as the traitor she was before it was too late. It's something I can't shut out."

Mahone swallowed imperceptibly. He didn't need to look at Jack to know he wasn't even receiving a fraction of the full picture. He wasn't sure he wanted to see it.

"I'm sorry about that," he said at last, his voice hollow.

Facing Mahone, Jack broke out the sincere yet cold half-smile he seemed to have perfected down to a fine art.

"You don't want me empathising with you any more than I want you sympathising with me. I'm telling you this because I want you to understand. There was no way I could have guessed that my actions would lead to Teri's death. There was no way you could have known that calling Pamela would lead to her death."

"It's not that simple."

"It has to be." Jack returned his gaze to the freeway as they left the bottleneck behind. "You'll destroy yourself otherwise."

Mahone had long ago drained himself of the energy to defend himself against each successive accusation of his acute self-neglect. It was futile when the edges of the path he had made for himself grew only more black and more concrete with every step he took and every body he allowed to fall by the wayside.

Yet for a long time he'd managed to suppress it all. The fact that Jack could coax him out of his singularly vengeful mindset with one look and a few pointed words unsettled him more than he would ever admit.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, his thoughts wavered erratically between the building ahead and the FBI-issue safehouse somewhere in the heart of Pocatello whose location had already been compromised.

"Schapker Memorial."

Mahone blinked as Jack pointed out their whereabouts, nosing the Jeep onto the curb at the same time. When he continued to stare blankly out at their surroundings, Jack's face hardened, all traces of leniency vanishing.

Retrieving his satchel from the back seat, his partner pressed, "The coordinates, Alex."

"The entire area surrounding the facility is under round-the-clock surveillance," Mahone replied, undoing his seatbelt and opening the passenger door. "We have to take the last few blocks on foot and run recon on the facility before we do anything else."

"If Kingswood's expecting you, getting ambushed is the least of our concerns."

"Not if we want that situation reversed."

Jack sent a sharp glance Mahone's way. He mirrored his movements as he exited the 4WD, walking quickly around the vehicle and confronting him on the sidewalk.

"I know you want to bring him in alive," Mahone cut in, striding ahead and forcing Jack to follow before he could open his mouth. "But you don't know Ryan like I do. I've seen the way he is in prison – he'd rather die than be thrown into another one for the rest of his life."

"How do I know you aren't setting up his death anyway?"

Mahone smiled ruefully. "I never said you should rule that out as a possibility."

Looking less assured by the second that joining Mahone on his renegade mission had been the right course of action to take, Jack nevertheless refrained from arguing as they crossed the freeway.

Darkness borne from the setting sun was beginning to descend on the horizon. Street lights flickered on as Mahone approached a multi-story parking structure looming before them like a dilapidated watch tower. He climbed the stairs that led up to the second level.

"If we pass through here, we can save five minutes," he said, reaching the landing and turning at the door. "And there's probably a good vantage point up ahead we can use to spec the building."

Mahone froze as he saw that Jack had fallen behind and pulled his cell from his bag. He battled his natural preference for baseless accusations, and chose instead to state in a more rational voice, "I thought we agreed there weren't going to be any phone calls."

"I'm not inept enough to take the risk of calling a team down here and exposing our position," retorted Jack, joining Mahone as he opened and entered the door to the second level. "That doesn't mean I'm planning to go in there blind."

"You really think the Company doesn't have a monitoring system in place to detect incoming satellite activity?"

Reacting to Mahone's seamless ability to read his thoughts by merely raising a silencing hand, Jack stopped next to a metal railing and adjusted his cell against his ear. Mahone fumed as Jack faced away from him, all but ignoring his warning.

"Yes. I need it … yes, I need it within the hour. I don't care what laws you have to break, Chloe, just task them. Please."

The blood drained from Mahone's face. Jack's side of the conversation was swallowed up by the low roaring which erupted in his ears. The waspish requests withered away until they were nothing more than background noise. He took a small step forward as Jack remained oblivious to his rising fury.

"If anyone asks questions, put them on the line with me," Jack went on, placing his free hand on the railing. He listened for a moment, before pivoting around to Mahone and calling, "Now would be a good time for those –"

There was a split second between the time when Jack registered that Mahone was right behind him and when Mahone grabbed his wrist and twisted. The cell had barely fallen from Jack's hand and smashed onto the concrete below before Jack jabbed his left elbow backwards. Mahone blocked it, however, and wrenching Jack's arm behind his shoulder, he kicked out at the small of his back, sending him crashing to his knees. Thrusting Jack's face into the metal barrier, he pulled his bag from his body and tossed it over the railing to join his cell.

He was about to reach for Jack's right arm to render him fully immobile when his partner whipped upwards in one lightning motion. The top of Jack's skull connected with his lower jaw, and roaring in pain as he felt something splinter, he threw Jack around and pushed him away. Jack kept his footing and straightened himself, his gaze savage.

"Are you out of your mind?" he yelled, keeping himself out of striking distance as he clutched his shoulder. "I have done and put up with everything to help you get here, and the first thing you do is attack me? I'm on your side!"

Rubbing his jaw, Mahone took the time to laugh before replying, "So I take it that telling me you invited Morris O'Brian to come along with us to Seattle was a common courtesy you were saving for later."

Jack didn't even bother keeping his face from falling into an expression of disbelief. Mahone chuckled again, lowering his hand and steadying himself on his feet.

"You really think I'm an idiot, don't you, Jack? I've seen your file. I've read everything that happened the day you disappeared – I know the real reason President Logan stepped down. I couldn't place where I'd seen O'Brian before until I remembered that he helped you expose the truth about Palmer's assassination. Along with his ex-wife. Chloe."

The last word that came out of Mahone's mouth sounded strange and distant to his ears. He cleared his throat as Jack chanced a quick glance around them at the vacant parking lot.

"I guess your idea of trust's flexible enough after all," Mahone finished in a snarl.

"You weren't going to let me come along one way or another," Jack said heatedly, shifting sideways as Mahone raised white-knuckled fists. "I didn't betray you. I did you a favour. Marking yourself a dead man in return for two seconds of revenge might seem a fair deal now, but your son will pay the price for it for the rest of his life."

"God, I am so sick of everyone telling me what's best for him!" Mahone shouted. "He was three years old when I walked out on him – I'm not his father anymore. I can't be anymore. This is how it has to end!"

Jack shook his head as they began to circle each other. "You won't win if you fight me, Alex."

"I'm not the one who's spent the last 18 months in a Chinese concentration camp."

Despite his snide tone, Mahone had to smother a surge of panic as he sized up his partner. Jack's steps were immaculate, refusing to surrender any weak openings that Mahone could take advantage of. It was impossible to tell which side Jack favoured, nor whether he was more proficient at kickboxing or hand-to-hand combat as Mahone was himself. He suspected with a sinking feeling that the ex-CTU agent possessed a far more multifaceted approach to improvisational fighting.

Not to mention that Jack already had the trump card of seeing Mahone fight up close – something that hadn't been reciprocated.

An explosion of movement caught Mahone unawares. He saw Jack's leg a fraction of a second before he crossed his forearms and stopped the blow connecting with his ribcage. Letting out a primal yell of anger, he lashed both fists forward. Jack managed to trap his right hook in a steel grip, and pulling his left arm down, he rammed the sole of his boot into Mahone's stomach. Mahone flew backwards onto the hard concrete ground.

The air rushed out of Mahone's lungs as pain shot up his spine. Clutching his chest, he sat up and scrambled away from Jack as he made to stand over him.

"End this," Jack spat, rolling his sleeves up and looking well and truly out of patience. "I'm through trying to bargain with you."

Mahone answered by shooting a foot at Jack's kneecap. Jack easily caught his ankle, and didn't miss a beat before snapping it around. Rolling onto his front, Mahone narrowly avoided a broken leg as he followed Jack's excruciating pull. Yanking himself free, he staggered upright again. They both retreated a few steps, weighing each other up once more.

Fighting had never been one of Mahone's formidable points. It was a domain he had always neglected in favour of military and manhunt stratagem. Whatever dominance he had ever held over previous assailants had been the result of the tricks Ryan had passed on to him during their tenure at Division 5. Mahone knew, meeting the ire on Jack's face, that even those wouldn't help him now.

He had to play to his own strengths.

"You did kill her, didn't you?" he murmured. When Jack flinched and creased his brow at the same time, he continued, "Nina Myers. You cornered her, disarmed her, and shot her like an animal even when she was incapacitated. That was the easiest connect-the-dot in your file."

Jack stiffened. "You wouldn't know that by reading my file."

"No." Mahone couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. "But I do now."

Launching himself forward again, he feinted a kick at Jack's hip joint. Jack saw the distraction coming, however, and slammed his palm into Mahone's bruised jaw before Mahone's elbow could collide with his face. Mahone dodged his ensuing uppercut and smacked him in the temple.

They were soon punching and parrying so rapidly that their hands became nothing but a single blur. Blocking fist after fist with his still bandaged left arm, Mahone could feel Jack catching onto his weaknesses and exploiting them.

"She was your friend," he choked out, vision blurring as Jack came away with another blow to his cheekbone. "That's why you trusted her. That's why you murdered her. You know exactly what it's like to be betrayed by someone so close, and yet you're above the rules when it comes to dealing with them. You're worse than a hypocrite."

"This is different. Kingswood is the best chance we've got of exposing the Company and disbanding it."

"Oh, it's always different. How many loopholes did you come up with for Nina before she killed your wife? Or did everyone just assume that because you used to sleep with her that she was exempt from suspicion?"

Murderous rage seized Jack's expression. Roping his arm through Mahone's unguarded one, he swung him around and hurled him into the window of a nearby car. Glass shattered everywhere as Mahone's back smashed against the door. He gritted his teeth as he felt cuts blossoming on his unprotected neck.

But his words had produced the desired effect. Instead of backing up to a safer defensive position, Jack lunged at him again. Mahone ducked the straight punch to his solar plexus and shot up behind his partner. Taking advantage of Jack's open right side, he bashed the back of his neck and grabbed his shoulder at the same time.

Jack let out a pained roar as he felt Mahone's fingers digging into his wound. Bucking against Mahone's hold, he threw his left arm behind him in a haphazard attempt to free himself, but Mahone caught him by the wrist. Using his full weight to shove Jack into the car door, he released his shoulder and wrenched the strap of the driver seatbelt out through the broken window.

He secured Jack in three loops. As he twisted his partner around to face him, his eyes fell on a glint of metal underneath Jack's shirt. Jack sensed Mahone's gaze and tried to shunt him off, but Mahone ripped the chain from his neck before springing out of reach.

Grappling with the seatbelt tying his hands together, Jack could only watch as Mahone ran the chain's pendant through his trembling fingers.

"What are you going to do, Alex?" he clenched out, lifting himself to his feet as he continued to yank at his restraints. "Even if you manage to get in there and kill Kingswood, what are you going to do afterwards? Who's going to unearth the Company for you? How the hell are you ever going to get your life back?"

Jack stopped, getting his answer as Mahone pocketed the tracker and spun away from him.

"Alex, no. You don't want to do that. Damn it, Alex, think about what you're doing!"

"When you get yourself free, follow the signal and you'll get what you came here for," Mahone replied in an even voice. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Jack."

The dull buzzing in Mahone's ears grew to a deafening roar as he walked away, drowning out Jack's increasingly desperate shouts.

Arriving on the first level of the parking lot, he made his way over to Jack's dropped satchel and pulled the revolver Ryan had given him from its confines. Mechanically flipping its cylinder out and checking the load, he stored the gun in his jacket and left the parking lot. Keeping his eyes ahead, he refused to spare a glance behind him.

The time for redemption had passed.

* * *

Mahone had never set foot within two states of Venhart Carinae. Despite that, and having only heard the kinds of stories about the Division 5 stronghold that had built it up as more a myth than a reality in his head, he managed to track down the building with time to spare.

Lights were still switched on within the vicinity. Cars were drawing out of the back lot, and Mahone narrowed his eyes, unable to decide whether the combination of the brisk emptying of the site along with the total lack of security was indicative of an exfiltration or the end of a typical work day. He knew the facility housing the servers was a front for a dummy corporation. That didn't necessarily mean there were any innocents inside.

All the same, he waited a few more minutes until the last vehicle had disappeared. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he withdrew the tracker and strung it around the chain link fence separating him from the compound. More lights went out as he bowed his head and let out a long sigh. Then, with a nimbleness that belied his injuries, he scaled the fence and dropped down on the other side.

The apprehension boiling in the pit of his stomach worsened with every step he took towards the building's entrance. It was pointless trying to find another route inside, however. Ryan was expecting him to barge through the front door guns blazing, and he didn't want to disappoint.

Silence greeted him. Unnerved, he eased the door shut behind him, and edged along the wall with his revolver held firmly against his chest. Sweeping his eyes across the ceiling, he realised with mild consternation that the security cameras pointed down at him were deactivated.

"No more games, Ryan!" he called out, swivelling his gaze around the poorly lit lobby as he moved past the reception desk. "Show yourself!"

There was a pinging noise. He whipped to his left, eyes wide with anticipation. A deep rumble followed, and stalking closer, he saw that a pair of elevator doors had opened for him. Hesitating for only a fraction of a second, he stepped inside and hit the button for the top floor.

He darted out quickly as the doors opened again on the ninth floor. Running along the passageway and keeping his gun out in front of his tensed body, he searched left and right. He halted as he passed a conference room and caught sight of a broad pair of shoulders standing before a jagged mosaic painting hanging from the wall.

Doubling back, he slammed the room's glass doors open. The man was already turning to face him. Glimpsing the bald head and heavily decorated jacket, he stopped dead in his tracks.

A harpoon of painful memories speared through his heart. Neither of them spoke for an eternity.

Finally, Mahone came around the opposite side of the wooden drawing table and spat, "Where's Ryan?"

"We may have parted ways a long time ago, Alex, but that doesn't clear you to ignore common decency and respect. Maintain discipline."

Inhuman laughter fell from Mahone's lips as he arrived opposite the man. He barely kept himself in check, the urge to blow a hole into the weathered and frowning face almost overwhelming him.

"Okay, sir. I want to find your poster boy and break every bone in his body before I snap his neck. If you do that, General sir, then I'll afford you the dignity of keeping your head intact when I kill you."

Hable reacted to the revolver rising squarely towards his torso by peering out the glass doors and saying, "You're not prepared to make the same mistake twice. Lower your weapon so we can talk."

The gun discharged against orders. Hable made a grunting noise as a bullet tore through his right clavicle. He staggered forward onto the table, only just keeping himself from collapsing onto the floor. His expression somehow remained stoic as blood poured over his military regalia.

Alarm crept into Mahone's eyes as he returned his former mentor's gaze. In spite of that, the sentiment just as swiftly disappeared.

"Tell me where Ryan is," he said, coldly drawing out his words.

"Nobody is left inside the building except you and me. The Venhart Carinae database has already been transferred to an offshore location. He left hours ago."

"Then tell me where he is now!" Mahone barked, pulling the hammer back on his revolver and storming mere inches away from Hable.

Hable spun one of the chairs towards himself and eased onto it. Clutching the hole in his shoulder and taking laboured breaths, he kept his gaze on Mahone, ignoring the gun pointed straight between his eyes.

"I think sending after him a man who would do anything to see him dead would defeat the purpose of designating him as the new head of the Company."

"The new head of the Company," Mahone repeated, not even blinking in surprise. "You old bastard."

"Alex, sit down for a moment and think about why I'm here," said Hable, his voice insistent. "I stayed behind to offer you a choice. You could have it all. Partner with Ryan and help him coordinate the Sona project. Pull it off and the Company will be impregnable – you'll have all the power you ever wanted. You'll never have to answer to anyone about Shales again."

"I've never heard of the Sona project."

"You will one way or another." Hable wiped his forehead, leaving a streak of blood in his hand's wake. "Trust my word when I tell you that you do not want to discover the other measures we have in place to get you to co-operate if you take the less favourable option."

"14 years ago, you gave me a choice," Mahone rebutted, shifting the gun in his hands. "To walk away from Division 5 and every single crime I knew you were committing, or to go down fighting. I spent every day that I worked for you taking the best route for me, so I left the same way. I'm done with taking the easiest way out."

"It's not the coward's path. It's one that would put you in a position to do great things for this country. To heal it. To make it stronger. You and Ryan could make the Company the true power it was always envisioned to be."

"If you think for one second that I could ever work with my wife's murderer …"

"Pamela was killed on my orders."

Mahone's mouth closed mid-sentence as Hable's statement hit him. He had figured out as much since learning that Hable was alive – that the man he had fractured his soul for and resumed bastardizing it for a decade and a half later had been the overseer of the complete destruction of his life – yet it ripped him apart all the same.

A desert seemed to well up inside his throat, and it took him a moment to work his vocal chords again.

"The only thing I ever wanted was to be with my family again," he whispered, unable to bring himself to care that all of the fight had left his voice. "How dare you decide for me that being dragged back to Division 5 was the best thing for me? How dare you assume that … killing Pam was a service to me?"

"You compromised her life when you told her the truth. But a part of you must have understood that she was an acceptable loss in the greater scheme of things."

"Your propaganda stopped working on me years ago," Mahone said, a tremor of disdain underlining his words. "Civilians and soldiers aren't autonomous. Increasing the viability of one doesn't justify destroying the other."

"It does if it's in the best interests of this country –"

Mahone pounded a hand down onto the drawing table.

"I will end your life if you keep substituting patriotism for psychosis!"

"So do it, Alex."

Hable's clear, merciless eyes were finally training on Mahone's revolver. It struck Mahone in that moment how much everything about Shales had reminded him of the General – the hulking figures, the pleasure derived from pain, and the power gained from the absence of any discernable conscience. He felt sick.

Hable nodded slowly as Mahone lowered his weapon to his side. Before Mahone could speak, his tormentor twisted his features into an unnatural expression. They gazed at each other for a long moment before Mahone registered with a start that Hable was smiling at him for the first time in his life.

He raised the gun and fired.

Head snapping backwards as a bullet punctuated his brow, Hable fell motionless onto the ground. The shot had elicited no fear or surprise in his eyes. Mahone didn't hesitate. Circling around the drawing table, he launched four more bullets into Hable's chest.

The wail of a distant siren was the only sound that haunted the air as Mahone stared down his outstretched arm at the dead general.

A countless number of corpses had fallen at Mahone's feet throughout his lifetime. He'd loved none of them more than Pam. He'd hated none of them more than Shales. And he'd never been left so brutally numb by one as he had just been done by Hable.

Dropping his empty gun, he clutched the top of his pounding head and backed away from Hable's body. He knew even before shock settled in that Hable had been right.

Closure had never been something he'd been able to attain through murder. He'd failed to learn his lesson with Shales, and now, once again, he was left with nothing.

Hunting Ryan down wouldn't change any of that. It was – all of it – pointless.

The sirens outside were growing louder. He could see blue and red beams slashing across each other along the wall. Feeling his feet move of their own accord, he withdrew from the conference room and covered the floor towards the fire exit. Clambering up the grey metal stairs, he heard shouts echoing up from the bottom floor. He ignored them all.

A blast of icy wind soothed his face as he stepped out onto the building's rooftop. He didn't blink as he approached the ledge. Pulling his jacket from his shoulders, he folded the garment into a neat bundle and set it down on the ground. It took all his willpower to keep his eyes dry as he stood again and scanned the brightly lit Seattle landscape.

He had lost himself for so long. Every day had been a waking dream since he had abandoned Pam and Cameron; every night had been an unbearable assortment of tormenting voices and tortuous nightmares.

Bitterness enveloped him as he fathomed that he was surer about what to do in death than he had been in life. Taking two sharp breaths, he pushed himself onto the ledge. Closing his eyes, he spread his arms out wide and lifted his head towards the star-free sky.

"Alex!"

Mahone didn't need to turn around to put a name to the voice. He glanced out of the corner of his eye regardless, and saw his partner advancing towards him from the staircase landing.

"Get off the ledge!" Jack shouted, aiming his gun up at Mahone's prone figure. "Now!"

Something akin to a smile carved deep into Mahone's face as he replied softly, "Tell Cameron and Chris that I love them."

"Alex, you son of a bitch – get off the ledge!"

"Or what? You'll shoot me off?" Mahone chuckled as he faced the landscape again. "I could use a break."

Jack realised the futility of threatening Mahone with his weapon, and promptly dropped it as he halted a few metres away.

Heavily armoured SWAT members chose that moment to storm onto the rooftop. Rounding on the officers, Jack yelled at them to stand down. They did so without protest, retreating just as quickly as they had appeared. Mahone tried to shut out the noise by taking another deep breath.

"Listen to me," Jack said, returning his attention to his partner. "You've been off midazolam too long. It's disrupting the way you think. You know you don't want to jump."

"Don't you ever get tired of saving people who haven't done a thing in their lives to deserve it, Jack?"

"Alex …"

"No, you listen to me!" Mahone screamed, and the anger that flared inside him made him spin around to meet Jack's blazing eyes. "I'm not their pawn anymore! I'm not your pawn anymore! If you want to know where they offloaded the VC servers … if you want to find Ryan … if you want to bring down the Company, find someone else who's willing to ruin their life and spend the rest of their days behind bars! Because I am done!"

"You think I only came here to secure the Venhart Carinae database?" Jack ran a hand over his forehead as Mahone's chest heaved with the effort of his outburst. "I don't give a damn about that. You're the issue here. I don't want you to die. I do not want you to die. You've come too far to give up now."

Devastation crossed Mahone's face. He turned away from Jack, attempting to hide the conflict that his words had seeded. Jack caught his expression, however, and moved closer until he could speak without shouting.

"I've been there, Alex. I admit it, you were right. We've shared the same hell. Two years ago … I lost three of the closest friends I ever had. The man responsible for all of it – I didn't think twice before executing him. I stood over his body, and I felt nothing … so believe me when I tell you that I know what it's like to lose everything, and then feel like you have no-one left to take it out on. I know you think your only option is to jump. To finish it. To give in just because you think there's no chance you can go back to what you had before. But all of the death we've seen together has been pointless. If you take the easiest way out now, then every single person who came before you will have died for nothing. After that, someone exactly like you will find themselves here, and they'll do exactly what you did, and you'll have died for nothing as well. It'll never stop. So I am asking you to end it here. Take your life back. Things are going to be horrible for a while, I won't lie to you. Only I've seen the way you handle things, the way you work, and I know you're strong enough to deal with it. I know you can make a clean slate for yourself – trust me, Alex. You can go anywhere once the worst has passed. You can live again."

Vision beginning to blur, Mahone's head sank downwards. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want you to step down from the ledge. I want you to surrender peacefully to the authorities. I give you my word that I'll testify at your hearing and lobby for a lenient sentence. If you co-operate, you can be out in five years."

Mahone didn't move.

"You don't want your family to remember you like this, Alex."

A sharp gust of wind suddenly pierced the air. Mahone, already unsteady on his feet, swayed outwards, and Jack let out a yell as he misinterpreted the movement. Lurching forward, he grabbed Mahone's arm and made to pull him back onto the rooftop.

Losing his footing again, Mahone plummeted backwards. Jack caught him around the shoulders as he fell, barring him from colliding with the concrete floor. Mahone had barely managed to comprehend what had happened before Jack threw him onto the ground and lifted his gun on him.

"Don't move," he growled, reaching into the back of his jeans with his free hand. "I have to bring you in – I don't have a choice."

But Mahone could see the same mix of fear and doubt he had stumbled upon in the restaurant bathroom creeping back onto Jack's face. He grimaced as Jack pulled out a radio receiver and ordered the SWAT team to return to their location. Avoiding his eyes, Jack stashed his pistol away and stepped aside for the arriving officers.

Mahone didn't fight as he was hauled to his feet. A chill went through him as handcuffs locked around his wrists, and he continued to stare at his partner. Forced to walk towards the fire exit, he finally uttered Jack's name as he passed him.

The SWAT officers paused, unsure how to respond. Jack looked equally indecisive, until he nodded at the officers to halt and drew level with Mahone.

"I wish things could be different," he said in a rapid murmur, meeting Mahone's blank eyes. "I can't keep your arrest from reaching the public. But I'll appeal to the President myself to have you placed in a secure detention facility well out of the Company's reach. And I will do everything in my power to keep your son and your brother safe."

"Thank you."

Even though Jack's expression didn't change, Mahone discerned from the slight widening of his partner's eyes that his first show of gratitude in two weeks hadn't gone unnoticed.

Jack allowed the corners of his mouth to upturn in a faint smile as he placed a hand on Mahone's shoulder and squeezed.

"You're the reason I'm home, Alex. And that's all I need."

* * *

_Six weeks later – Detroit, Michigan_

* * *

The rumble of the transport vehicle was cut off by a crackle of dust and the sound of braking tyres as it drew to a stop outside the barbwire fence.

Trying to ignore the pain caused by the shackles cuffed around his wrists and ankles like piranha's teeth, Mahone gazed out the back doors' windows at the looming compound. He noted with a small sigh of relief that it was devoid of a media scrum.

If he had never been a fan of the press before his incarceration, the public spectacle they had reduced his trial to over the last month and a half had only served to strengthen his intense hatred. Though he had been sorely tempted by cash offerings totalling four times the amount it would take to set Cameron up for life, he had ultimately refused all interview requests.

He was so tired of championing and romanticising the brutality of war.

The media had made do without his help. Each of his hearings had been a marathon of raucous spectators and relentless reporters. The frenzy stirred with his every word and testimony had grown even more fatuous when President Heller had awoken from his coma and almost immediately issued pardons to Lincoln Burrows and Sara Tancredi. Their exonerations had hung, no doubt, on the advice of his former aide.

Mahone felt a lump rise in his throat as he heard a familiar silken voice float through the van walls. Remaining obediently motionless as his chains were released from the metal rungs bolted into the floor, he squinted as one of the doors opened and the harsh sun met his unfocused pupils.

"Are you absolutely sure you weren't tracked?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure, sir."

Glancing quickly at Mahone before scowling at the young guard who had driven the van on the five mile trek to the prison facility, Jack snapped, "There's a big difference between pretty sure and definitely sure."

"Definitely sure." The guard pulled his uniform collar nervously under Jack's scrutiny. "I'm sure. Absolutely."

Mahone blinked, adjusting his eyesight as Jack turned away from the guard in disgust. His former partner was decked out in a polished and clean-cut suit, considerably improved in appearance by the fact that he had filled out to healthier proportions since their last meeting. He had seen Jack wearing the suit during the two days he had stood witness at his trial. It still looked jarring on him.

That had been weeks ago, however. He hadn't laid eyes on Jack since, nor spoken with him following his arrest at his hands. Needless to say, his resentment hadn't waned.

"How are you doing?" Jack asked, shoving a wallet into his pocket and opening the other van door. "Bill Buchanan told me they've been keeping you isolated."

"The peace and quiet was nicer than the courts." Mahone held up his hands, exposing the red welts marring his wrists. "But I've been better."

"Take those off him," Jack ordered without hesitation. "I'll escort him personally into the building."

"That goes against every rule in the book," protested the guard sitting opposite Mahone.

Jack was on him in a flash, pulling rank like he had been born to do it.

"Are you going against a directive handed down by the President's personally appointed special advisor on domestic security policy and foreign counter-terrorist activity? Because if you are, I can have you locked up in there along with this prisoner faster than you can spit out another insult at me. Take his cuffs off now!"

The two guards shared a look, before hurriedly moving to unfasten Mahone's restraints. He was soon free, and Jack stepped back, allowing him room to exit the van. Dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand, he took Mahone by the arm and led him towards the prison entrance.

Mahone smirked at Jack as they waited for the gates to roll open.

"Personally appointed special advisor on domestic security policy and what now?"

"I couldn't tell them I'm the head of a covert multi-agency department dedicated to toppling an organisation that still doesn't officially exist."

"My God, Jack. You do too much. There are other people out there who are qualified enough to figure out what Sona is. Take some time off. It goes without saying that you deserve it."

Brushing off Mahone's concern, Jack nodded at the guard on duty as they walked through the entrance gates. Crossing the parking lot, Mahone changed tactics when Jack continued to remain silent.

"How's Audrey?"

Releasing his grip on Mahone and steering him towards the metal doors leading into the facility, Jack sent him his deadliest warning glare before displaying his wallet. It allowed them through, and he muttered, "Paul's disappearance upset her a lot. She's not happy I'm still going against the Company after what I went through in China. I'm seeing a psychologist."

Arriving inside the prison's entrance lobby, Mahone nearly laughed at the non sequitur. He caught Jack's serious look as they leaned against the bars of a metal gate, however, and hastened to drown any signs of amusement as they were searched.

"Is it working out for you?"

Jack gritted his teeth as a hand patted down on his right shoulder. "I'd be lying if I said it was going either way."

The guards finally finished gawking at Mahone and opened the gate. Continuing unaccompanied down the corridor, they rounded a corner and made towards a connecting room that was evidently the jail's prisoner transfer area.

"So we're the only two here who know anything about the Company, right?"

Expecting the answer to be a foregone conclusion, Mahone stilled as Jack blew over his words with a slight tick of his eyelid. He repeated his question in a louder voice. Jack spun around as he saw that Mahone had paused halfway down the corridor.

"What?"

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

Jack drew closer to him. "About what?"

"About this place."

"What makes you think you need to know anything about this place?"

"You just ignored my question."

"No, I didn't."

"You just ignored my first question, Jack."

"There's nothing to worry about," Jack assured, exaggerating his point by brandishing a hand around at their surroundings. "This prison is sequestered, soundproof, satellite-proof, and stable. If the Company even thinks about trying to get to you in here, they'll pay the price for it, and they know it."

All but pushing Mahone in the direction of the transfer room, Jack forced him to walk ahead. It effectively freed him from any further questions, but Mahone couldn't shake the feeling that he was being deprived of a vital piece of intel.

They passed a long corridor to their right which a sign indicated led to the visitors room. Mahone contemplated his chances of ever using the amenity. Distracted by his sinking heart, he crashed into an auburn-haired woman and a small child hanging from her arm who materialised out of nowhere.

After much fumbling on both sides, they managed to pull themselves apart. The boy gave a quiet whimper as his mother brushed her hair from her eyes.

"I'm so sorry. Oh." There was a lull as Mahone avoided their collective gazes, not wanting to see the fear in their eyes when they deduced that he was a convict. "A guard invited us to the break room to pick up refreshments while we waited. It's been hours."

"That's great," he muttered, sliding past them and stalking towards the transfer room.

He didn't make it more than three strides before he froze. Footsteps were running up behind him and Jack was calling his name, but he was already pivoting on his heel. His eyes met Jack's confused ones for a brief second. Then, very slowly, he looked at the woman and child again.

Sara had done something to her hair. It was shorter on the sides and more knotted and unkempt – much different than the long ruby tresses she had once sported. Her face signalled exhaustion, and though it was fresh and made up at the current moment, Mahone knew from one look at her that she had cried several times over a very short and very recent time span.

She was a different picture from the strong woman he had met two months ago. But there was no mistaking the large brown purse slung over her shoulder. Nor the diminutive hand clutching one end of the bag.

And then his sapphire eyes were on Cameron's chocolate-brown ones. He staggered forward, half-fearing he was dreaming and half-fearing he would wake up at any moment. Crouching down in front of his son, he tried to formulate words, until he realised he had never expected this to happen, and hence hadn't prepared anything to say.

He wanted to kill himself. It had been so easy to visualise Cameron as he had remembered him – scrawny and defenceless – and convince his conscience that taking himself out of the equation of his son's life would improve it immeasurably.

Yet he recognised too well the pain within the depths of the eyes that reminded him so terribly of Pam. It had been his own when his mother had separated from his father and left him behind. A part of him had never recovered from that day.

He couldn't do the same to his own son.

A cough escaped Cameron's lips, breaking him out of his reverie. Realising Cameron was trying to summon the courage to say something, he grasped his son's tiny shoulders and smiled.

"What is it, Cameron? Don't be scared."

Cameron's gaze darted up to Sara, and she nodded encouragingly. Blinking innocently, he asked, "Who are you?"

It was as though a code red had been issued within the prison. Sara's mouth dropped open, and she whipped her head from Cameron to his father, already in damage control. Jack, who had been chatting on his cell phone a short distance away, turned to face them, looking more horrified than Mahone had ever thought him able to express.

Cameron's neatly laced shoe was tapping his impatience out against the linoleum floor. Mahone opened his mouth to reply. He choked on his answer, however, and shut it again, letting his hands fall away from his son.

He felt Cameron punch him on the arm suddenly. Before he could wince or cry, Cameron launched himself into his slackened embrace, wrapping his arms around him in a strangling hug.

"That was for leaving me and Mommy."

Overcoming his shock, Mahone returned the hug so fiercely he thought he might never let go. He studied his son's hair – it had faded to a darker blonde since his infancy – his body – he had grown five inches – and his face – the chubby cheeks were narrowing out, and the dark features were unmistakeably Pam's. He drank in every detail, more than well aware that it might be the last chance he ever had to do so.

"Daaad." Cameron squirmed underneath his arms. "The doctor and the spy-man are watching us."

Sara and Jack mustered disinterested fronts as Mahone regarded them for a split second. He let Cameron go and brushed a speck of hair off his button nose.

"I'm sorry." He tugged Cameron towards him and kissed the top of his head. "Cameron, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I love you. I will always love you, more than anything in the world. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Whatever happens to me, whatever you hear – know that I would do anything for you. Anything. Do you understand?"

Tears slipped out of Cameron's large brown eyes as he nodded. Mahone pulled him close again and ruffled a hand through his hair.

"Good boy."

"I'm sorry, Alex, but we have to go."

Even Jack wasn't immune to the scorching glare Mahone directed his way, and he respectfully shrank back. Looking past where Jack had been blocking his view, Mahone spotted a reedy man with dark hair greying at the temples standing with his back straight at the end of the corridor. The expensive-suited man, who looked somewhere in his early 50s, was hardly subtle in showing his displeasure at the blatant display of affection inside the prison walls.

"What are you looking at?" Mahone growled, taking an instant dislike to the man.

Sara came around from behind Mahone and approached the stranger. She whispered something into the man's ear, and his eyebrows rose. Mahone stood side by side with Cameron as they walked back to him. Mahone didn't break eye contact with the man.

"Alex, this is Jonathon Beltrov," introduced Sara, acting as though she was a butterfly caught in the tennis net of a particularly violent match. "He's a reformed con who was originally given a twenty year sentence. He brokered it down to five based on all of the good work he did both here and in Wisconsin."

"I was also something of friend to Frank Tancredi before he committed suicide," Beltrov continued, his voice loud and overbearing despite the presence of both Sara and Cameron. "By the way – which moron granted you access to a secure area without at least a pair of handcuffs on?"

Jack stepped forward from the shadows. "That was my doing, sir. It was only a short distance from the transportation vehicle to the prison. I personally believed Alex didn't pose a substantial enough threat to warrant restraints."

"Personally? Where the hell do you think you are, Agent Bauer? There is no 'personally' when it comes to the felons who walk through that door. There is no room for subjective thought. This is a federal penitentiary and he is a criminal responsible for multiple deaths. So the next time you think you can come in here and grant favours to anyone who looks at you the right way, take the time to shove your prejudices up your ass first."

"Wait a minute."

All eyes focused on Mahone as Cameron's hand squeezed tighter inside his own. He didn't blink as Beltrov's eyes bored into his skull.

"Would you mind not using that language in front of my boy?" he asked in a low hiss. "And show a little respect for Jack Bauer while you're at it. You have no idea what he's sacrificed for this country."

Beltrov's mouth curled until it was almost a leer. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, convict?"

"Warden," cut in Jack, and Mahone was forced to run a hand over his face in order to hide his sheer disbelief, "Alex just needs a little more time to get settled in."

"I don't have the time or the patience to wait for my inmates to be housebroken."

"Then you'll just have to make an exception. Strike this incident from the record. Time served begins when he walks through that door."

"My ass it does." Beltrov glanced from Jack to Sara and Mahone and back again, as though there was a hidden joke that had been lost in translation. "It's bad enough the FBI golden boy gets five years instead of the chair. Now he gets to hide behind bureaucratic bullshit-types like yourself?"

"Strike this incident from the record, and we can keep the indiscretion you committed last month in Panama from hitting the front page."

"Don't try to bluff me, agent," Beltrov snarled, advancing on Jack.

Jack's face darkened. "I'm not trying to bluff you, sir. But I am ordering you, backed by the full power of the Presidential office, to lay off Alexander Mahone until his stay at this facility is complete. Disrespect President Heller's wishes and you will suffer consequences and experience repercussions that you can't even begin to imagine."

It was plain to see that were it not for the security cameras covering the corridor and entranceway to the transfer room, Beltrov would have thrown a punch in Jack's direction. Demonstrating a healthy supply of common sense, however, Beltrov recognised the promise of an unhappy outcome if he were to set Jack off, and desisted.

"Fine," the warden sneered, straightening his jacket and returning his gaze to Mahone. "But the next time you play smartass with me, I will hang you out to dry just like any other piece of shit in gen pop. You understand?"

Lowering his finger from Mahone's bored face, Beltrov spun away and retreated down the corridor.

"So long as you do, Jonathan," Mahone called out after him.

Beltrov flinched at the stripping down of his title, but didn't look back. Disappearing around the corner, the warden stabbed a hand in Mahone's direction.

"Get some handcuffs on that son of a bitch and escort his unauthorised visitors from the building before all of the inmates start demanding favours!"

Four guards emerged in Beltrov's wake. Mahone raised his arms, trying to appeal for a few more minutes with Cameron. Ignoring his gesture, two of them shoved him against the wall, fastening handcuffs around his bruised wrists. The other guards did everything but physically lay their hands on Sara and Cameron in order to drag them back towards the prison lobby.

Twisting his head around, Mahone snatched a final glimpse of his son's teary eyes before he vanished. He ground his teeth together as Jack caught up behind him and barked at the guards to release him. They only did so when he pulled several documents from his bag which authorised him to oversee Mahone's full booking in.

Mahone pressed his mouth into a thin line, stymieing his anger as his details were evaluated. He finally blew apart when Jack was handed a clipboard and they were left alone in a corner of the transfer room.

"Bastard dragged me off to prison in front of my son and didn't even let me say goodbye!"

"Beltrov has a rough reputation," Jack replied, scrawling pen over paper. "I'm sorry it went down like that."

"Don't be. I'm actually impressed. You managed to track down the one federal prison in America led by a bigger asshole than Kellerman."

"He might seem a little forthright at the start, but he's a good man deep down. I've read his file. Ever since he became warden and implemented his zero-tolerance policy, Elderach Penitentiary's rehabilitation rate has come out as the best in the country eight years running."

Mahone chewed his lip as Jack passed the clipboard back. Waiting for the papers to be processed, the uneasy feeling elicited by Jack's sudden inability to meet his eyes or stay on topic returned with a jolt.

"Why is Sara here?" he asked, choosing his words precisely. "And why is Cam with her?"

Jack shrugged. Even then, his nonchalance came off forced.

"After she left Illinois, Audrey's contact took them to the same safehouse in Idaho where your son was being protected. Cameron wasn't communicating with anybody when they arrived. Sara was the only one who managed to bring him out of his shell. They've gotten pretty close. Audrey thinks the fact they both lost parents was a deciding factor."

Loosening his tie as Mahone digested the news, Jack added, "She's seeking legal custody."

"No."

Mahone spat the word before he could stop himself. Jerking his head sideways, he saw Jack peering at him worriedly, and reiterated, "No way in hell."

"It's a woman of Sara's integrity who genuinely cares about Cameron, or an adoptive agency. The very fact you're here now means you don't have a say in the matter. And if you're thinking about what you're probably thinking about, you don't have to stress over it. He left her a while ago."

Their conversation was interrupted by a clerk requesting another signature. Mahone didn't fail to register Jack's relieved expression as he was given something to do other than talk to his prisoner. He edged closer to Jack until they were nearly nose-to-nose, and he couldn't be ignored any longer.

"What?" Jack snapped, passing the sheet and pen back to the clerk as he glared at Mahone.

"You didn't pick this place because it was well enough protected," Mahone stated quietly. "You picked it because it ... wasn't. You've planned something, haven't you?"

Jack sighed, obviously having anticipated Mahone figuring things out. "You're going to have to trust me."

"What did you do?"

"What I had to do in order to do my job." Jack clamped a hand on Mahone's arm as he made to move away. "You cannot act like anything is different. The stakes are too high. And the less you know right now, the better."

Mahone briefly considered letting the issue go. But the fact that Jack had taken the trouble to hide an inevitably exposed truth fitted the last jigsaw piece into place, and he recoiled, face nauseous.

Before Jack could say anything more, Mahone rammed his body into him, throwing him backwards.

They had barely tumbled onto the ground before seven different batons were slamming into Mahone's back. He allowed himself to be wrenched onto his feet as the beating continued, and it didn't strain him to feign a struggle against the hands holding him in place.

"That's enough!"

Jack's roared order cut through the grunts of the guards laying waste to Mahone's torso. They stood down. Two of them kept their holds on Mahone as the rest parted way for the President's advisor.

Directing his middle and index fingers at the guards holding Mahone, Jack shifted his hand towards the gate which opened into the corridor leading towards gen pop.

"Both of you, take him straight to his cell right now. I'll sort out the rest of the paperwork from the lobby."

Nobody moved except Mahone, who began to struggle with far more force at Jack's words. The guard who had pulled him off Jack made a small scoffing noise, which echoed around the encompassing circle.

"No offence, sir, but the lunatic just assaulted you. We're talking a minimum of two weeks solitary here."

"I know Elderach's standard protocol. I'm superseding that. The warden can bring it up with me himself if he wants to. Just get him out of here and put him in his cell."

"Don't listen to him. Take me to solitary!" Mahone knew it was useless trying to convince the guards who were hauling him off to break ranks, and latched onto Jack instead. "I told you before, I don't care what the Company does to him. He ruined my life. You can't just expect me to forget that. I agreed to this sentence so I could forget that!"

"No matter what he says –" Jack grimaced at the guards "– he doesn't know what he's talking about."

"I am not delusional!" shouted Mahone, kicking a foot out at the gate as it closed in front of him. "Why are you keeping me out of the loop? What did your source tell you about Sona – what do they want with … Jack!"

But Jack's pallid face was already slipping out of sight. "I'll see you next week."

"Jack, you son of a bitch! Tell me what the hell's going on!"

The end of the corridor morphed into a gaping whirlpool sucking Mahone down into an unknown fate as he continued to yell Jack's name. Clean white lights were replaced by a harsher yellow. Reaching the entrance landing, he ceased his shouting as the ceiling expanded and heightened, and row after row of cells came into view.

The guards leading him to his own cell tightened their grips as his body sagged. Crude words and spiteful stares followed him along the bottom row of the block and up the stairs to the second level. He couldn't bring himself to lift his head and defy his ridiculers in response. His mind dreaded only one thing.

An open cell door was visible down the row. He pleaded to the guard on his right to take him back to see Beltrov, but the guard merely unlocked his handcuffs and shoved him forward.

Closing his eyes in horror, Mahone turned and stepped into the cell.

His eyes darted around the chamber as the gate locked into place behind him. It was larger than he had expected – and yet he felt as though he had just been buried alive. Entwining his fingers around the gate's metal bars, he stared at the back of a grey sleeve shirt bent over the running sink.

An intricate tattoo adorned the arm of the man shaving in front of him. After a few moments, Mahone's cellmate set the razor down and began to splash water onto his face.

Mahone flinched as the con straightened and finally said, "Sorry about the bottom bunk. The last guy who owned it was a little messy, so I cleaned the sheets this morning. But if you wait a couple of hours, it should dry up –"

Spinning around and facing Mahone, his cellmate's voice died away. The towel in his hands dropped to his side. His hazel eyes mirrored Mahone's stilted blue ones as they widened by the tiniest fraction.

"– and everything should be okay," Michael finished.

* * *

_- END -_


End file.
